nn 

^B       B*"^^ 

POSTMASTER 


[iili! 


JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 


o 


or  CMXT. 


Seems  to  me  I   never  saw  her  look  prettier." 

[Page  iQ5.]  , 


THE 
POSTMASTER 

BY  JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 


Author  of  "The  Depot  Master,"  "Cap'n  Warrens  Wards," 
"Cap'n  Eri,"  "Mr.  Pratt,"  etc. 


J  !»• 


WITH  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  HOWARD  HEATH 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK. 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
D.  APFLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1911,  1912,  by  the  Curtis  Publishing  Company 

Copyright,  1911,  1912,  by  the  Ainslee  Magazine  Company 

Copyright.  1912.  by  the  Ridgeway  Company 


Publish**.    April,   1911 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  POSTMASTER 

CHAPTER  I 

I  MAKE  TWO  BETS  — AND  LOSE  ONE  OF  'EM 

SO  you're  through  with  the  sea  for  good,  are  you, 
Cap'n  Zeb,"  says  Mr.  Pike. 
"  You  bet!  "  says  I.     "  Through  for  good 
Is  just  what  I  am." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry,  for  the  firm's  sake,"  he  says. 
"  It  won't  seem  natural  for  the  Fair  Breeze  to  make 
port  without  you  in  command.  Cap'n,  you're  goin' 
to  miss  the  old  schooner." 

"  Cal'late  I  shall  —  some  —  along  at  fust,"  I  told 
him.  "  But  I'll  get  over  it,  same  as  the  cat  got 
over  missin'  the  canary  bird's  singin';  and  I'll  have 
the  cat's  consolation  —  that  I  done  what  seemed 
best  for  me." 

He  laughed.  He  and  I  were  good  friends,  even 
though  he  was  ship-owner  and  I  was  only  skipper, 
just  retired. 

"So   you're   goin'   back   to   Ostable?"  he    says. 
'  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  after  you  get  there?  " 

"  Nothin' ;  thank  you  very  much,"  says  I,  prompt. 

i 


2130929 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"No  work  at  all?"  he  says,  surprised.  "Not  a 
hand's  turn?  Coin'  to  be  a  gentleman  of  leisure, 
hey?" 

"  Nigh  as  I  can,  with  my  trainin'.  The  '  leisure  ' 
part'll  be  all  right,  anyway." 

He  shook  his  head  and  laughed  again. 

"  I  think  I  see  you,"  says  he.  "  Cap'n,  you've 
been  too  busy  all  your  life  even  to  get  married, 
and—" 

"  Humph!  "  I  cut  in.  "  Most  married  men  I've 
met  have  been  a  good  deal  busier  than  ever  I  was. 
And  a  good  deal  more  worried  when  business  was 
dull.  No,  sir-ee !  'twa'n't  that  that  kept  me  from 
gettin'  married.  I've  been  figgerin'  on  the  day 
when  I  could  go  home  and  settle  down.  If  I'd 
had  a  wife  all  these  years  I'd  have  been  figgerin1 
on  bein'  able  to  settle  up.  I  ain't  goin'  to  Ostable 
to  get  married." 

"  I'll  bet  you  do,  just  the  same,"  says  he. 
"And  I'll  bet  you  somethin'  else:  I'll  bet  a  new 
hat,  the  best  one  I  can  buy,  that  inside  of  a  year 
you'll  be  head  over  heels  in  some  sort  of  hard 
work.  It  may  not  be  seafarin',  but  it'll  be  some- 
thin'  to  keep  you  busy.  You're  too  good  a  man 
to  rust  in  the  scrap  heap.  Come !  I'll  bet  the  hat. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

'  Take  you,"  says  I,  quick.  "  And  if  you  want 
to  risk  another  on  my  marryin',  I'll  take  that,  too." 

2 


i  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

"  Go  you,"  says  he.  "  You'll  be  married  inside 
of  three  years  —  or  five,  anyway." 

"  One  year  that  I'll  be  at  work  —  steady  work 
—  and  five  that  I'm  married.  You're  shipped, 
both  ways.  And  I  wear  a  seven  and  a  quarter, 
soft  hat,  black  preferred." 

"  If  I  don't  win  the  first  bet  I  will  the  second, 
sure,"  he  says,  confident.  '  Satan  finds  some  mis 
chief  still  for  idle  hands,5  you  know.  Well,  good- 
by,  and  good  luck.  Come  in  and  see  us  whenever 
you  get  to  New  York." 

We  shook  hands,  and  I  walked  out  of  that  of 
fice,  the  office  that  had  been  my  home  port  ever 
since  I  graduated  from  fust  mate  to  skipper.  And 
on  the  way  to  the  Fall  River  boat  I  vowed  my  vow 
over  and  over  again. 

"  Zebulon  Snow,"  I  says  to  myself  —  not  out 
loud,  you  understand;  for,  accordin'  to  Scriptur'  or 
the  Old  Farmers'  Almanac  or  somethin',  a  feller 
who  talks  to  himself  is  either  rich  or  crazy  and, 
though  I  was  well  enough  fixed  to  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door,  I  wa'n't  by  no  means  so  crazy  as  to 
leave  the  door  open  and  take  chances  — "  Zebulon 
Snow,"  says  I,  "  you're  forty-eight  year  old  and 
blessedly  single.  All  your  life  you've  been  haulin' 
ropes,  or  bossin'  fo'mast  hands,  or  tryin'  to  make 
harbor  in  a  fog.  Now  that  you've  got  an  anchor 
to  wind'ard  —  now  that  the  one  talent  you  put  un- 

3 


THE  POSTMASTER 

der  the  stock  exchange  napkin  has  spread  out  so 
that  you  have  to  have  a  tablecloth  to  tote  it  home 
in,  don't  you  be  a  fool.  Don't  plant  it  again,  caP- 
latin'  to  fill  a  mains'l  next  time,  'cause  you  won't 
do  it.  Take  what  you've  got  and  be  thankful  — 
and  careful.  You  go  ashore  at  Ostable,  where  you 
was  born,  and  settle  down  and  be  somebody." 

That's  about  what  I  said  to  myself,  and  that's 
what  I  started  to  do.  I  made  Ostable  on  the  next 
mornin's  train.  The  town  had  changed  a  whole 
lot  since  I  left  it,  mainly  on  account  of  so  many 
summer  folks  buyin'  and  buildin'  everywhere,  espe 
cially  along  the  water  front.  The  few  reg'lar  in 
habitants  that  I  knew  seemed  to  be  glad  to  see  me, 
which  I  took  as  a  sort  of  compliment,  for  it  don't 
always  foller  by  a  consider'ble  sight.  I  got  into 
the  depot  wagon  —  the  same  horse  was  drawin'  it, 
I  judged,  that  Eben  Hendricks  had  bought  when 
I  was  a  boy  —  and  asked  to  be  carted  to  the  Trav 
elers'  Inn.  It  appeared  that  there  wa'n't  any 
Travelers'  Inn  now,  that  is  to  say,  the  name  of  it 
had  been  changed  to  the  Poquit  House;  "  Poquit  " 
bein'  Injun  or  Portygee  or  somethin'  foreign. 

But  the  name  was  the  only  thing  about  that  hotel 
that  was  changed.  The  grub  was  the  same  and  the 
wallpaper  on  the  rooms  they  showed  to  me  looked 
about  the  same  age  as  I  was,  and  wa'n't  enough 
handsomer  to  count,  either.  I  hired  a  couple  of 

4 


I  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

them  rooms,  one  to  sleep  in  and  smoke  in,  and 
t'other  to  entertain  the  parson  in,  if  he  should  call, 
which  —  unless  the  profession  had  changed,  too  — 
I  judged  he  would  do  pretty  quick.  I  had  the 
rooms  cleaned  and  papered,  bought  some  dyspepsy 
medicine  to  offset  the  meals  I  was  likely  to  have, 
and  settled  down  to  be  what  Mr.  Pike  had  called  a 
"  gentleman  of  leisure." 

Fust  three  months  'twas  fine.  At  the  end  of  the 
second  three  it  commenced  to  get  a  little  mite  dull. 
In  about  two  more  I  found  my  mind  was  shrinkin' 
so  that  the  little  mean  cat-talks  at  the  breakfast 
table  was  beginnin'  to  seem  interestin'  and  important. 
Then  I  knew  'twas  time  to  doctor  up  with  some- 
thin'  besides  dyspepsy  pills.  Ossification  was  set- 
tin'  in  and  I'd  got  to  do  somethin'  to  keep  me  inter 
ested,  even  if  I  paid  for  Pike's  hats  for  the  next 
generation. 

You  see,  there  was  such  a  sameness  to  the  pro 
gramme.  Turn  out  in  the  mornin',  eat  and  listen 
to  gossip,  go  out  and  take  a  walk,  smoke,  talk  with 
folks  I  met  —  more  gossip  —  come  back  and  eat 
again,  go  over  and  watch  the  carpenters  on  the 
latest  summer  cottage,  smoke  some  more,  eat  some 
more,  and  then  go  down  to  the  Ostable  Grocery, 
Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes  and  Fancy  Goods 
Store,  or  to  the  post-office,  and  set  around  with  the 
gang  till  bedtime.  That  may  be  an  excitin'  life  for 

5 


THE  POSTMASTER 

a  jellyfish,  or  a  reg'lar  Ostable  loafer  —  but  it 
didn't  suit  me. 

I  was  feelin'  that  way,  and  pretty  desperate,  the 
night  when  Winthrop  Adams  Beanblossom  —  which 
wa'n't  the  critter's  name  but  is  nigh  enough  to  the 
real  one  for  him  to  cruise  under  in  this  yarn  —  told 
me  the  story  of  his  life  and  started  me  on  the  v'yage 
that  come  to  mean  so  much  to  me.  I  didn't  know 
'twas  goin'  to  mean  much  of  anything  when  I 
started  in.  But  that  night  Winthrop  got  me  to  pad- 
dlin',  so's  to  speak,  and,  later  on,  come  Jim  Henry 
Jacobs  to  coax  me  into  deeper  water;  and,  after 
that,  the  combination  of  them  two  and  Miss  Letitia 
Lee  Pendlebury  shoved  me  in  all  under,  so  'twas  a 
case  of  stickin'  to  it  or  swimmin'  or  drownin'. 

I  was  in  the  Ostable  Store  that  evenin',  as  us 
ual.  'Twas  almost  nine  o'clock  and  the  rest  of  the 
bunch  around  the  stove  had  gone  home.  I  was 
fillin'  my  pipe  and  cal'latin'  to  go,  too  —  if  you  can 
call  a  tavern  like  the  Poquit  House  a  home.  Bean- 
blossom  was  in  behind  the  desk,  his  funny  little  griz 
zly-gray  head  down  over  a  pile  of  account  books 
and  papers,  his  specs  roostin'  on  the  end  of  his  thin 
nose,  and  his  pen  scratchin'  away  like  a  stray  hen  in 
a  flower  bed. 

"  Well,  Beanblossom,"  says  I,  gettin'  up  and 
stretchin',  "  I  cal'late  it's  time  to  shed  the  partin' 
tear.  I'll  leave  you  to  figger  out  whether  to  spend 

6 


I  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

this  week's  profits  in  government  bonds  or  trips  to 
Europe  and  go  and  lay  my  weary  bones  in  the  tomb, 
meanin'  my  private  vault  on  the  second  floor  of  the 
Poquit.  Adieu,  Beanblossom,"  I  says;  "remember 
me  at  my  best,  won't  you?  " 

He  didn't  seem  to  sense  what  I  was  drivin'  at. 
He  lifted  his  head  out  of  the  books  and  papers, 
heaved  a  sigh  that  must  have  started  somewheres 
down  along  his  keelson,  and  says,  sorrowful  but  po 
lite —  he  was  always  polite — "  Er  —  yes?  You 
were  addressin'  me,  Cap'n  Snow?  " 

"  Nothin'  in  particular,"  I  says.  "  I  was  just 
askin'  if  you  intended  spendin'  your  profits  on  a  trip 
to  Europe  this  summer." 

Would  you  believe  it,  that  little  store-keepin'  man 
looked  at  me  through  his  specs,  his  pale  face  twitch- 
in'  and  workin'  like  a  youngster's  when  he's  tryin' 
not  to  cry,  and  then,  all  to  once,  he  broke  right 
down,  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands  and  sobbed  out 
loud. 

I  looked  at  him.  "  For  the  dear  land  sakes," 
I  sung  out,  soon's  I  could  collect  sense  enough  to  say 
anything,  "what  is  the  matter?  Is  anybody  dead 
or—" 

He  groaned.  "Dead?"  he  interrupted.  "I 
wish  to  heaven,  7  was  dead." 

"Well!"  I  gasps.     "Well!" 

"  Oh,  why,"  says  he,  "  was  I  ever  born?  " 

7 


THE  POSTMASTER 

That  bein'  a  question  that  I  didn't  feel  compe 
tent  to  answer,  I  didn't  try.  My  remark  about 
goin'  to  Europe  was  intended  for  a  joke,  but  if  my 
jokes  made  grown-up  folks  cry  I  cal'lated  'twas  time 
I  turned  serious. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Beanblossom? "  I  says. 
"  Are  you  in  trouble  ?  " 

For  a  spell  he  wouldn't  answer,  just  kept  on  sob- 
bin'  and  wringin'  his  thin  hands,  but,  after  consid- 
er'ble  of  such,  and  a  good  many  unsatisfyin'  re 
marks,  he  give  in  and  told  me  the  whole  yarn,  told 
me  all  his  troubles.  They  were  complicated  and 
various. 

Picked  over  and  b'iled  down  they  amounted  to 
this:  He  used  to  have  an  income  and  he  lived  on 
it  —  in  bachelor  quarters  up  to  Boston.  Nigh  as  I 
could  gather  he  never  did  any  real  work  except  to 
putter  in  libraries  and  collect  books  and  such. 
Then,  somehow  or  other,  the  bank  the  heft  of  his 
money  was  in  broke  up  and  his  health  broke  down. 
The  doctors  said  he  must  go  away  into  the  coun 
try.  He  couldn't  afford  to  go  and  do  nothin',  so  he 
has  a  wonderful  inspiration  —  he'll  buy  a  little  store 
in  what  he  called  a  "  rural  community  "  and  go  into 
business.  He  advertises,  "  Country  Store  Wanted 
Cheap,"  or  words  to  that  effect.  Abial  Beasley's 
widow  had  the  "  Ostable  Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots 
and  Shoes  and  Fancy  Goods  Store  "  on  her  hands. 


I  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

She  answers  the  ad  and  they  make  a  dicker.  Said 
dicker  took  about  all  the  cash  Beanblossom  had  left. 
For  a  year  he  had  been  fightin'  along  tryin'  to  make 
both  ends  meet,  but  now  they  was  so  fur  apart  they 
was  likely  to  meet  on  the  back  stretch.  He  owed 
'most  a  thousand  dollars,  his  trade  was  fallin'  off, 
he  hadn't  a  cent  and  nobody  to  turn  to.  What 
should  he  do?  What  should  he  do? 

That  was  another  question  I  couldn't  answer  off 
hand.  It  was  plain  enough  why  he  was  in  the  hole 
he  was,  but  how  to  get  him  out  was  different.  I  set 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  counter,  swung  my  legs 
and  tried  to  think. 

"  Hum,"  says  I,  "  you  don't  know  much  about 
keepin'  store,  do  you,  Beanblossom?  Didn't  know 
nothin'  about  it  when  you  started  in?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  afraid  not,  Cap'n 
Snow,"  he  says.  "  Why  should  I  ?  I  never  was 
obliged  to  labor.  I  was  not  interested  in  trade.  I 
never  supposed  I  should  be  brought  to  this.  I  am 
a  man  of  family,  Cap'n  Snow." 

"  Yes,"  I  says,  "  so'm  I.  Number  eight  in  a  fam 
ily  of  thirteen.  But  that  never  helped  me  none. 
My  experience  is  that  you  can't  count  much  on  your 
relations." 

Would  I  pardon  him,  but  that  was  not  the  sense 
in  which  he  had  used  the  word  "  family."  He 
meant  that  he  came  of  the  best  blood  in  New  Eng- 

9 


THE  POSTMASTER 

land.     His  ancestors  had  made  their  marks  and  — 

"Made  their  marks!"  I  put  in.  "Why? 
Couldn't  they  write  their  names?" 

He  was  dreadful  shocked,  but  he  explained.  The 
Beanblossoms  and  their  gang  were  big-bugs,  fine 
folks.  He  was  terrible  proud  of  his  family.  Dur 
ing  the  latter  part  of  his  life  in  Boston  he  had  be 
come  interested  in  genealogy.  He  had  begun  a 
"  family  tree  " —  whatever  that  was  —  but  he  never 
finished  it.  The  smash  came  and  shook  him  out  of 
the  branches;  that  wa'n't  what  he  said,  but  'twas  the 
way  I  sensed  it.  And  now  he  had  come  to  this. 
His  money  was  gone;  he  couldn't  pay  his  debts;  he 
couldn't  have  any  more  credit.  He  must  fail;  he 
was  bankrupt.  Oh,  the  disgrace!  and  likewise  oh, 
the  poorhouse! 

"  But,"  says  I,  considering  "  it  can't  be  so  tur- 
rible  bad.  You  don't  owe  but  a  thousand  dollars, 
this  store's  the  only  one  in  town  and  Abial  used  to 
do  pretty  well  with  it.  If  your  debts  was  paid,, and 
you  had  a  little  cash  to  stock  up  with,  seems  to  me 
you  might  make  a  decent  v'yage  yet.  Couldn't 
you?" 

He  didn't  know.  Perhaps  he  could.  But  what 
was  the  use  of  talkin'  that  way?  For  him  to  pick 
up  a  thousand  would  be  about  as  easy  as  for  a  par 
alyzed  man  with  boxin'  gloves  on  to  pick  up  a  flea, 
or  words  to  that  effect.  No,  no,  'twas  no  use!  he 

10 


I  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

must  go  to  the  poorhouse !  and  so  forth  and  so  on. 

"  You  hold  on,"  I  says.  "  Don't  you  engage 
your  poorhouse  berth  yet.  You  keep  mum  and  say 
nothin'  to  nobody  and  let  me  think  this  over  a 
spell.  I  need  somethin'  to  keep  me  interested  and 

.  .  I'll  see  you  to-morrow  sometime.  Good 
night." 

I  went  home  thinkin'  and  I  thought  till  pretty 
nigh  one  o'clock.  Then  I  decided  I  was  a  fool  even 
to  think  for  five  minutes.  Hadn't  I  sworn  to  be 
careful  and  never  take  another  risk?  I  was  sorry 
for  poor  old  Winthrop,  but  I  couldn't  afford  to  mix 
pity  and  good  legal  tender;  that  was  the  sort  of 
blue  and  yeller  drink  that  filled  the  poor-debtors' 
courts.  And,  besides,  wasn't  I  pridin'  myself  on 
bein'  a  gentleman  of  leisure.  If  I  got  mixed  up  in 
this,  no  tellin'  what  I  might  be  led  into.  Hadn't  I 
bragged  to  Pike  about  —  Oh,  I  was  a  fool ! 

Which  was  all  right,  only,  after  listenin'  to  the 
breakfast  conversation  at  the  Poquit  House,  down 
I  goes  to  the  store  and  afore  the  forenoon  was  over 
I-  was  Winthrop  Adams  Beanblossom's  silent  part 
ner  to  the  extent  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars.  I 
was  busy  once  more  and  glad  of  it,  even  though 
Pike  was  goin'  to  get  a  hat  free. 

This  was  in  January.  By  early  March  I  was 
twice  as  busy  and  not  half  as  glad.  You  see  I'd 
cal'lated  that  the  store  was  all  right,  all  it  needed 

ii 


THE  POSTMASTER 

was  financin'.  Trade  was  just  asleep,  taking  a  nap, 
and  I  could  wake  it  up.  I  was  wrong.  Trade  was 
dead,  and,  barrin'  the  comin'  of  a  prophet  or  some 
miracle  worker  to  fetch  it  to  life,  what  that  shop 
was  really  sufferin'  for  was  an  undertaker.  My 
twenty-five  hundred  was  funeral  expenses,  that's  all. 

But  the  prophet  came.  Yes,  sir,  he  came  and 
fetched  his  miracle  with  him.  One  evenin',  after 
all  the  reg'lar  customers,  who  set  around  in  chairs 
borrowin'  our  genuine  tobacco  and  payin'  for  it 
with  counterfeit  funny  stories,  had  gone  —  after 
everybody,  as  we  cal'lated,  had  cleared  out  —  Bean- 
blossom  and  I  set  down  to  hold  our  usual  autopsy 
over  the  remains  of  the  fortni't's  trade.  'Twas  a 
small  corpse  and  didn't  take  long  to  dissect.  We'd 
lost  twenty-one  dollars  and  sixty-eight  cents,  and 
the  only  comfort  in  that  was  that  'twas  seventy-six 
cents  less  than  the  two  weeks  previous.  The 
weather  had  been  some  cooler  and  less  stuff  had 
sp'iled  on  our  hands;  that  accounted  for  the  savin'. 

Beanblossom  —  I'd  got  into  the  habit  of  callin' 
him  "  Pullet"  'cause  his  general  build  was  so  sim 
ilar  to  a  moultin'  chicken  —  he  vowed  he  couldn't 
understand  it. 

"  I  think  I  shall  give  up  buyin'  so  liberally,  Cap'n 
Snow,"  says  he.  "  If  we  didn't  keep  on  buyin'  we 
shouldn't  lose  half  so  much,"  he  says. 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  that's  logic.     And  if  we  give  up 

12 


I  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

sellin'  we  shouldn't  lose  the  other  half.  You  and 
me  are  all  right  as  fur  as  we  go,  Pullet,  and  I  guess 
we've  gone  about  as  fur  as  we  can." 

"  Please  don't  call  me  *  Pullet,'  "  he  says,  digni 
fied.  "  When  I  think  of  what  I  once  was,  it  — " 

"  S-sh-h !  "  I  broke  in.  "  It's  what  I  am  that  trou 
bles  me.  I  don't  dare  think  of  that  when  the  min 
ister's  around  —  he  might  be  a  mind-reader.  No, 
Pul  —  Beanblossom,  I  mean  —  it's  no  use.  I  im 
agined  because  I  could  run  a  three-masted 
schooner  I  could  navigate  this  craft.  I  can't.  I 
know  twice  as  much  as  you  do  about  keepin'  store, 
but  the  trouble  with  that  example  is  the  answer, 
which  is  that  you  don't  know  nothin'.  We  might 
just  exactly  as  well  shut  up  shop  now,  while  there's 
enough  left  to  square  the  outstandin'  debts." 

He  turned  white  and  began  the  hand-wringin' 
exercise. 

"Think  of  the  disgrace!"  he  says. 

"  Think  of  my  twenty-five  hundred,"  says  I. 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  says  a  voice  astern  of 
us;  "  excuse  me  for  buttin'  in;  but  I  judge  that  what 
you  need  is  a  butter." 

Pullet  and  I  jumped  and  turned  round.  We'd 
supposed  we  was  alone  and  to  say  we  was  surprised 
is  puttin'  it  mild.  For  a  second  I  couldn't  make  out 
what  had  happened,  or  where  the  voice  came  from, 
or  who  'twas  that  had  spoke  —  then,  as  he  come 

13 


THE  POSTMASTER 

across  into  the  lamplight  I  recognized  him.  'Twas 
Jim  Henry  Jacobs,  the  livin'  mystery. 

Jim  Henry  was  middlin'-sized,  sharp-faa  d, 
dressed  like  a  ready-tailored  advertisement,  and  as 
smooth  and  slick  as  an  eel  in  a  barrel  of  sweet  ile. 
Accordin'  to  his  entry  on  the  books  of  the  Poquit 
House  he  hailed  from  Chicago.  He'd  been  in  Os- 
table  for  pretty  nigh  a  month  and  nobody  had  been 
able  to  find  out  any  more  about  him  than  just  that, 
which  is  a  some  miracle  of  itself  —  if  you  know 
Ostable.  He  was  always  ready  to  talk  —  talkin' 
was  one  of  his  main  holts  —  but  when  you  got 
through  talkin'  with  him  all  you  had  to  remember 
was  a  smile  and  a  flow  of  words.  He  was  at  the 
seashore  for  his  health,  that  he  always  give  you  to 
understand.  You  could  believe  it  if  you  wanted 
to. 

He'd  got  into  the  habit  of  spendin'  his  evenin's 
at  Pullet's  store,  settin'  around  listenin'  and  smilin' 
and  agreein'  with  folks.  He  was  the  only  feller 
I  ever  met  who  could  say  no  and  agree  with  you 
at  the  same  time.  Solon  Saunders  tried  to  borrow 
fifty  cents  of  him  once  and  when  the  pair  of  'em 
parted,  Saunders  was  scratchin'  his  head  and  lookin' 
puzzled.  "  I  can't  understand  it,"  says  Solon.  "  I 
would  have  swore  he'd  lent  it  to  me.  'Twas  just 
as  if  I  had  the  fifty  in  my  hand.  I  —  I  thanked 
him  for  it  and  all  that,  but  —  but  now  he's  gone  I 

14 


I  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

don't  seem  to  be  no  richer  than  when  I  started.  I 
can't  understand  it." 

Pullet  and  I  had  seen  him  settin'  abaft  the  stove 
early  in  the  evenin',  but,  somehow  or  other,  we  got 
the  notion  that  he'd  cleared  out  with  the  other 
loafers.  However,  he  hadn't,  and  he'd  heard  all 
we'd  been  sayin'. 

He  walked  across  to  where  we  was,  pulled  a  shoe 
box  from  under  the  counter,  come  to  anchor  on  it 
and  crossed  his  legs. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  says  again,  "  you  need  a  but 
ter." 

Poor  old  Pullet  was  so  set  back  his  brains  was 
sort  of  scrambled,  like  a  pan  of  eggs. 

"  Er-er,  Mr.  Jacobs,"  he  says,  "  I  am  very 
sorry,  extremely  sorry,  but  we  are  all  out  just  at 
this  minute.  I  fully  intended  to  order  some  to-day, 
but  I  —  I  guess  I  must  have  forgotten  it." 

Jacobs  couldn't  seem  to  make  any  more  out  of 
this  than  I  did. 

"Out?"  he  says,  wonderin'.  "Out?  Who's 
out?  What's  out?  I  guess  I've  dropped  the  key 
or  lost  the  combination.  What's  the  answer?  " 

"  Why,  butter,"  says  Pullet,  apologizin'.  "  You 
asked  for  butter,  didn't  you?  As  I  was  sayin',  I 
should  have  ordered  some  to-day,  but — " 

Jim  Henry  waved  his  hands.  "  Sh-h,"  he  says, 
"  don't  mention  it.  Forget  it.  If  I'd  wanted  but- 

15 


THE  POSTMASTER 

ter  in  this  emporium  I  should  have  asked  for  some- 
thin'  else.  I've  been  givin'  this  mart  of  trade  some 
attention  for  the  past  three  weeks  and  I  judge  that 
its  specialty  is  bein'  able  to  supply  what  ain't  wanted. 
I  hinted  that  you  two  needed  a  butter-in.  All 
right.  I'm  the  goat.  Now  if  you'll  kindly  give 
me  your  attention,  I'll  elucidate." 

We  give  the  attention.  After  he'd  "  elucidated  " 
for  five  minutes  we'd  have  given  him  our  clothes. 
You  never  heard  such  a  mess  of  language  as  that 
Chicago  man  turned  loose.  He  talked  and  talked 
and  talked.  He  knew  all  about  the  store  and  the 
business,  and  what  he  didn't  know  he  guessed  and 
guessed  right.  He  knew  about  Pullet  and  his  buy- 
in'  the  place,  about  my  goin'  in  as  silent  partner  — 
though  that  nobody  was  supposed  to  know.  He 
knew  the  shebang  wa'n't  payin'  and,  also  and  more 
over,  he  knew  why.  And  he  had  the  remedy  but 
toned  up  in  his  jacket  —  the  name  of  it  was  James 
Henry  Jacobs. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  says,  "  I'm  a  specialist.  I'm  a 
doctor  of  sick  business.  Ever  since  my  medicine 
man  ordered  me  to  quit  the  giddy  metropolis  and 
the  Grand  Central  Department  Store,  where  I  was 
third  assistant  manager,  I've  been  driftin'  about 
seekin'  a  nice,  quiet  hamlet  and  an  opportunity. 
Here's  the  ham  and,  if  you  say  the  word,  here's 
the  opportunity.  This  shop  is  in  a  decline;  it's  got 

16 


:As  he  come  across  into  the  lamplight  I  recognized  him." 


I  MAKE  TWO  BETS 

creepin'  paralysis  and  locomotive  hang-back-tia. 
There's  only  one  thing  that  can  change  the  funeral 
to  a  silver  weddin' — that's  to  call  in  Old  Doctor 
Jacobs.  Here  he  is,  with  his  pocket  full  of  testi 
monials.  Now  you  listen." 

We'd  been  listenin' — 'twas  by  long  odds  the 
easiest  thing  to  do  —  and  we  kept  right  on.  He 
had  testimonials  —  he  showed  'em  to  us  —  and  they 
took  oath  to  his  bein'  honest  and  the  eighth  business 
wonder  of  the  world.  He  went  on  to  elaborate. 
He  had  a  thousand  to  invest  and  he'd  invest  it  pro 
vided  we'd  take  him  in  as  manager  and  give  him 
full  swing.  He'd  guarantee  —  etcetery  and  so  on, 
unlimited  and  eternal,  i 

"  But,"  says  I,  when  he  stopped  to  eat  a  throat 
lozenge,  "  sellin'  goods  is  one  thing;  gettin'  the 
right  goods  to  sell  is  another.  Me  and  Pullet  — 
Mr.  Beanblossom  here  —  have  tried  to  keep  a  pretty 
fair-sized  stock,  but  it's  the  kind  of  stock  that  keeps 
better'n  it  sells." 

"  Sell!  "  he  puts  in.  "  You  can  sell  anything,  if 
you  know  how.  See  here,  let  me  prove  it  to  you. 
You  think  this  over  to-night  and  to-morrow  fore 
noon  I'll  be  on  hand  and  demonstrate.  Just  put  on 
your  smoked  glasses  and  watch  me.  I'll  show  you." 

He  did.  Next  mornin'  old  Aunt  Sarah  Oliver 
came  in  to  buy  a  hank  of  black  yarn  to  darn  stock- 
in's  with.  With  diplomacy  and  patience  the  aver- 


THE  POSTMASTER 

age  feller  could  conclude  that  dicker  in  an  hour  and 
a  quarter  —  if  he  had  the  yarn.  Pullet  was  just 
out  of  black,  of  course,  but  that  Jim  Henry  Jacobs 
stepped  alongside  and  within  twenty  minutes  he  sold 
Aunt  Sarah  two  packages  of  needles,  a  brass  thim 
ble  and  a  half  dozen  pair  of  blue  and  yellow  striped 
stockin's  that  had  been  on  the  shelves  since  Abial 
Beasley's  time,  and  was  so  loud  that  a  sane  person 
wouldn't  dare  wear  'em  except  when  it  thundered. 
She  went  out  of  the  store  with  her  bundles  in  one 
hand  and  holdin'  her  head  with  the  other.  Then 
that  Jim  Henry  man  turned  to  Pullet  and  me. 

"Well?"  he  says,  serene  and  smilin'. 

It  was  well,  all  right.  At  just  quarter  to  twelve 
that  night  the  arrangements  was  made.  Jacobs  was 
partner  in  and  manager  of  the  "  Ostable  Grocery, 
Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes  and  Fancy  Goods 
Store." 


CHAPTER  II 

WHAT  A  "  PULLET "  DID  TO  A  PEDIGREE 

IN  less  than  two  months  that  store  of  ours  was 
a  payin'  proposition.  Jim  Henry  Jacobs  was 
responsible,  that  is  all  I  can  tell  you.  Don't 
ask  me  how  he  did  it.  'Twas  advertising  mainly. 
Advertisin'  in  the  papers,  advertisin'  on  the  fences, 
things  set  out  in  the  windows,  a  new  gaudy  delivery 
cart,  special  bargain  days  for  special  stuff  —  they  all 
helped.  Of  course  if  we'd  limited  ourselves  to 
Ostable  the  cargo  wouldn't  have  been  so  heavy  that 
we'd  get  stoop-shouldered,  but  that  Jim  Henry  was 
unlimited.  He  advertised  in  the  county  weekly  and 
sent  a  special  cart  to  take  orders  for  twenty  mile 
around.  The  early  summer  cottages  was  begin- 
nin'  to  open  and  'twas  summer  trade,  rich  city 
folks'  trade,  that  the  Jacobs  man  said  we  must  have. 
And  we  got  it,  one  way  or  another  we  got  it  all. 
Most  of  the  swell  big-bugs  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  orderin'  wholesale  from  Boston,  but  he  soon 
stopped  that.  One  after  another  Jim  Henry 
landed  'em.  When  I  asked  him  how,  he  just 
winked. 

19 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Skipper,"  says  he  —  he  most  generally  called 
me  "  Skipper  "  same  as  I  called  Beanblossom  "  Pul 
let  " — "  Skipper,"  he  says,  "  you  can  always  hook 
a  cod  if  there's  any  around  and  you  keepin'  changin' 
bait;  ain't  that  so?  Um-hm;  well,  I  change  bait, 
that's  all.  Every  man,  woman  and  suffragette  has 
got  a  weak  p'int  somewheres.  I  just  cast  around 
till  I  find  that  particular  weak  p'int;  then  they  swal- 
ler  hook,  line  and  sinker." 

"Humph!"  I  says,  "Miss  Letitia  ain't  swal 
lowed  nothin'  yet,  that  I've  noticed.  Her  weak 
p'ints  all  strong  ones?  or  what  is  the  matter?  " 

He  made  a  face.  "  Sister  Pendlebury,"  says  he, 
"  is  the  frostiest  proposition  I  ever  tackled  outside 
of  an  ice  chest.  But  I'll  get  her  yet.  You  wait  and 
see.  Why,  man,  we've  got  to  get  her." 

Well,  I  could  find  more  truth  in  them  statements 
than  I  could  satisfaction.  We'd  got  to  get  her  — 
yes.  But  she  wouldn't  be  got.  She  was  the  rich 
est  old  maid  on  the  North  Shore;  lived  in  a  stone 
and  plaster  house  bigger'n  the  Ostable  County  jail, 
which  she'd  labeled  "Pendlebury  Villa";  had  six 
servants,  three  cats  and  a  poll  parrot;  and  was  so 
tipped  back  with  dignity  and  importance  that  a 
plumb-line  dropped  from  her  after-hair  comb  would 
have  missed  her  heels  by  three  inches.  Her  winter 
port  was  Brookline;  summers  she  condescended  to 
shed  glory  over  Ostable. 

20 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

To  get  the  trade  of  Pendlebury  Villa  had  been 
Jim  Henry's  dream  from  the  start.  And  up  to  date 
he  was  still  dreamin'.  The  other  big-bugs  he  had 
caged,  but  Letitia  was  still  flyin'  free  and  importin' 
her  honey  from  Boston,  so  to  speak.  Jacobs  had 
tried  everything  he  could  think  of,  bribin'  the  serv 
ants,  sendin'  samples  of  fancy  breakfast  food  and 
pickles  free  gratis,  writin'  letters,  callin'  with  his 
Sunday  clothes  on,  everything  —  but  'twas  "Keep 
Off  the  Grass  "  at  Pendlebury  Villa  so  far  as  we 
was  concerned.  'Twas  the  biggest  chunk  of  trade 
under  one  head  on  the  Cape  and  it  hurt  Jim  Henry's 
pride  not  to  get  it.  However,  he  kept  on  tryin'. 

One  mornin'  he  comes  back  to  the  store  after  a 
cruise  to  the  Villa  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he 
looked  happier  than  was  usual  after  one  of  these 
trips. 

"Skipper,"  says  he,  "I  think  —  I  wouldn't  bet 
any  more'n  my  small  change,  but  I  think  I've  laid 
a  corner  stone." 

"With  Miss  Pendlebury?"  says  I,  excited. 

"  With  Letitia,"  he  says,  noddin'.  "  I  haven't 
got  an  order,  but  I  have  got  a  promise.  She's 
agreed  to  drop  in  one  of  these  days  and  look  us 
over." 

''Well!  "  says  I,  "  I  should  say  that  was  a  cor 
ner  stone." 

"  We'll  hope  'tis,"  he  says.     "  Ho,  ho!    Skipper, 

21 


THE  POSTMASTER 

I  wish  you  might  have  been  present  at  the  exercises. 
They  were  funny." 

Seems  he'd  managed  —  bribery  and  corruption  of 
the  hired  help  again  —  to  see  Letitia  alone  in  what 
she  called  her  "  mornin'  room."  He  said  that,  if 
he'd  paid  any  attention  to  the  temperature  of  that 
room  when  he  and  she  first  met  in  it,  he'd  have  fig- 
gered  he'd  struck  the  morgue;  but  he  warmed  it  up  a 
little  afore  he  left.  Miss  Pendlebury  just  set  and 
glared  frosty  while  he  talked  and  talked  and  talked. 
She  said  about  three  words  to  his  two  hundred 
thousand,  but  every  one  of  hers  was  a  "  no."  She 
didn't  care  to  patronize  the  local  merchants.  The 
city  ones  were  bad  enough  —  she  had  all  the  trou 
ble  she  wanted  with  them.  She  was  not  interested; 
and  would  he  please  be  careful  when  he  went  out 
and  not  step  on  the  flower  beds. 

He  was  about  ready  to  give  it  up  when  he 
happened  to  notice  an  ile  portrait  in  a  gorgeous  gold 
frame  hangin'  on  the  wall.  'Twas  the  picture  of 
a  man,  and  Jim  Henry  said  there  was  a  kind  of  great- 
I-am  look  to  it,  a  combination  of  fatness  and  im 
portance  and  wisdom,  same  as  you  see  in  a  stuffed 
owl,  that  give  him  an  idea.  He  started  to  go, 
stopped  in  front  of  the  picture  and  began  to  look 
it  over,  admirin'  but  reverent,  same  as  a  garter 
snake  might  look  at  a  boa-constrictor,  as  proof  of 
what  the  race  was  capable  of. 

22 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Pendlebury,"  he  says,  "  but 
that  is  a  wonderful  portrait.  I  have  had  some  ex 
perience  in  judgin'  paintin's  — "  he  was  clerk  in  the 
Grand  Central  Store  framed  picture  department  once 
— "  and  I  think  I  know  what  I'm  talkin'  about." 

Would  you  believe  it,  she  commenced  to  unbend 
right  off. 

"  It  is  a  Sargent,"  says  she. 

Now  /  should  have  asked:  "Sergeant  of  mili 
tia,  or  what?"  and  upset  the  whole  calabash;  but 
Jim  Henry  knew  better.  He  bows,  solemn  and  wise, 
and  says  he'd  been  sure  of  it  right  along. 

"  But  any  painter,"  he  says,  "  would  have  made 
a  success  with  a  subject  like  that  gentleman  before 
him.  There  is  somethin'  about  him,  the  height  of 
his  brow,  and  his  wonderful  eyes,  etcetery,  which 
reminds  me  —  You'll  excuse  me,  Miss  Pendlebury, 
but  isn't  that  a  portrait  of  one  of  your  near  rela 
tives?" 

She  unbent  some  more  and  almost  smiled.  The 
painted  critter  was  her  pa  and  he  was  considered 
a  wonderful  likeness. 

Well,  that  was  enough  for  your  uncle  Jim  Henry. 
He  settled  down  to  his  job  then  and  the  way  he 
poured  gush  over  that  painted  Pendlebury  man  was 
close  to  sacreligion.  But  Letitla  never  pumped  up 
a  blush;  worship  was  what  she  expected  for  her 
and  her  pa.  He'd  been  a  member  of  the  Gov- 

23 


THE  POSTMASTER 

ernor's  staff  and  a  bank  president  and  a  church 
warden  and  an  alderman  and  land  knows  what. 
His  daughter  and  Jacobs  had  a  real  sociable  inter 
view  and  it  ended  by  her  promisin'  to  drop  in  at  the 
store  and  look  our  stock  over.  'Course  'twa'n't 
likely  'twould  suit  her  —  she  was  very  exacting,  she 
said  —  but  she'd  look  it  over. 

We  looked  it  over  fust.  We  put  in  the  rest  of 
that  day  changin'  everything  around  on  the  coun 
ters  and  shelves,  puttin'  the  canned  stuff  in  piles 
where  they'd  do  the  most  good,  and  settin'  adver- 
tisin'  signs  and  such  in  front  of  the  empty  places 
where  they'd  been  afore.  Even  Pullet  worked, 
though  he  couldn't  understand  it,  and  growled  be 
cause  he  had  to  leave  the  musty  old  book  he  was 
readin'  and  the  "  genealogical  tree  "  he'd  begun  to 
cultivate  once  more.  Jacobs  was  pretty  well  dis 
gusted  with  Pullet.  Said  he  was  an  incumbrance 
on  the  concern  and  hadn't  any  business  instinct. 

All  the  next  day  and  the  next  we  hung  around, 
dressed  up  to  kill  —  that  is,  Jim  Henry's  togs  would 
have  killed  anything  with  weak  eyes  —  waitin'  for 
Letitia  Pendlebury  to  come  aboard  and  inspect. 
But  she  didn't  come  that  day,  or  the  next  either. 
Jacobs  was  disapp'inted,  but  he  wouldn't  give  in 
that  he  was  discouraged.  The  fourth  forenoon, 
when  there  was  still  nothin'  doin',  he  and  I  went 
on  a  cruise  with  a  hired  horse  and  buggy  over  to 

24 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

Bayport,  where  we  had  some  business.  We  left 
Pullet  in  charge  of  the  store  and  when  we  came  back 
he  was  lookin'  pretty  joyful. 

'Who  do  you  think  has  been  here?"  he  says, 
in  his  thin,  polite  little  voice.  "  Miss  Letitia  Pen- 
dlebury  called  this  afternoon." 

"  She  did!  "  shouts  Jacobs. 

"  Did  she  buy  anythin'?  "  I  wanted  to  know. 

No,  it  appeared  that  she  hadn't  bought  anythin'. 
Fact  is,  Pullet  had  forgot  he  was  supposed  to  be 
a  storekeeper.  When  Letitia  came  in  he  was 
roostin'  in  his  family  tree,  had  the  chart  spread  out 
on  the  counter  and  was  fillin'  in  some  of  the  twigs 
with  the  names  of  dead  and  gone  Beanblossoms. 
He  couldn't  climb  down  to  common  things  like 
crackers  and  salt  pork. 

"  But  she  was  very  much  interested,"  he  says,  his 
specs  shinin'  with  joy.  "  When  she  found  out  what 
I  was  busy  with  she  was  very  much  interested,  really. 
She  is  a  lady  of  family,  too." 

"She  is?"  I  sings  out.  "What  are  you  talkin' 
about?  She's  an  old  maid  and  an  only  child  besides, 
and—" 

"  Hush  up,  Skipper,"  orders  Jacobs.  "  Go  on, 
Pullet  —  Mr.  Beanblossom,  I  mean  —  go  on." 

So  on  went  Pullet,  both  wings  flappin'.  Letitia 
and  he  had  talked  "  family  "  to  beat  the  cars.  She 
had  'most  everything  in  the  Villa  except  a  family 

25 


THE  POSTMASTER 

tree.     She  must  have  one  right  away.     She  simply 
must. 

"  And  I  am  to  help  her  in  preparin'  it,"  says  Pul 
let,  puffed  up  and  vainglorious.  "  The  Pendlebury 
family  tree  will  be  an  honor  to  prepare.  Of  course 
it  will  require  much  labor  and  research,  but  I  shall 
enjoy  doing  it.  I  told  her  so.  Her  father  would 
have  prepared  one  himself,  had  often  spoken  of  it, 
but  he  was  a  very  busy  man  of  affairs  and  lacked  the 
time." 

My,  but  I  was  mad!  I  cal'late  if  I  had  a  marlin- 
spike  handy  our  coop  would  have  been  a  Pullet 
short.  But  Jim  Henry  Jacobs  was  so  full  of  tickle 
he  couldn't  keep  still.  He  fairly  dragged  me  into 
the  back  room. 

"Skipper,"  he  says,  "here  it  is  at  last!  We've 
got  it!" 

"  Yes,"  I  sputters,  thinkin'  he  was  referrin'  to 
Beanblossom,  "we've  got  it;  and,  if  you  ask  me, 
I'd  tell  you  we'd  ought  to  chloroform  it  afore  it 
does  any  more  harm." 

"  No,  no,"  he  says,  "  you  don't  understand. 
We've  got  the  old  girl's  weak  p'int  at  last.  It's 
genealogy.  Pullet  shall  grow  her  a  family  tree  if 
I  have  to  buy  a  carload  of  fertilizer  to-morrer. 
Think  of  it !  think  of  it !  Why,  she  won't  give  him 
a  minute's  rest  from  now  on.  She'll  be  after  him 
the  whole  time." 

26 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

"  But  I  can't  see  where  the  trade  comes  in," 
says  I. 

"  You  can't!  With  our  senior  pardner  head  for 
ester?  My  boy,  if  any  other  shop  sells  Pendlebury 
Villa  a  dollar's  worth  after  this,  I'll  Fletcherize  my 
hat,  that's  all!" 

He  knew  what  he  was  talkin'  about,  as  usual. 
The  very  next  forenoon  Letitia  was  in  to  consult 
with  Pullet  about  huntin'  up  her  family  records. 
Afore  she  left  Jacobs  took  orders  for  thirty-two  dol 
lars'  worth  and  I'd  have  bet  she  didn't  know  a  thing 
she  bought.  After  dinner,  Jim  Henry  sent  Pullet 
up  to  see  her.  He  stayed  until  supper  time.  Next 
day  he  had  supper  at  the  Villa.  A  week  later  he 
made  his  first  trip  to  Boston,  to  the  Genealogical 
Society,  to  hunt  for  records.  And  Jacobs  stayed 
in  Ostable  and  kept  the  Villa  supplied  with  the  lux 
uries  of  life.  If  the  Pendlebury  servants  didn't  die 
of  gout  and  overeatin',  it  wasn't  our  fault. 

By  August  the  whole  town  was  talkin'.  They 
had  it  all  settled.  'Cordin'  to  the  gossip-spreaders 
there  could  be  only  one  reason  for  Pullet  and  Miss 
Letitia  bein'  together  so  much  —  they  was  cal'latin' 
to  marry.  The  weddin'  day  was  prophesied  and  set 
anywheres  from  to-morrer  to  next  Christmas.  I 
thought  such  talk  ought  to  be  stopped.  Jim  Henry 
didn't. 

"Why?"  says  he. 

27 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"Whyl"  I  says.  "Because  it's  foolishness, 
that's  why.  'Cause  there's  no  truth  in  it  and  you 
know  it." 

"  No,  I  don't  know,"  says  he.  "  Stranger  things 
than  that  have  happened." 

"  She  marry  that  old  fossilized  pauper !  " 

"Why  not?  He's  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  if 
he  is  poor.  She's  rich,  but  if  there's  one  thing  she 
isn't,  it's  a  scholar." 

"Humph!  fur's  that  goes,"  says  I,  "she  ain't  a 
gentleman,  either  —  though  she's  next  door  to 
it." 

"  That's  all  right.  Skipper,  there's  some  things 
money  can't  buy.  Pullet's  got  book  learnln'  and 
treed  ancestors  and  she  ain't.  She's  got  money 
and  he  ain't.  Both  want  what  t'other's  best  fixed 
in.  If  old  Beanblossom  had  any  sand,  I  should  be 
lieve  'twas  a  sure  thing.  I  guess  I'll  drop  htm  a 
hint." 

"  My  land!  "  I  sang  out;  "  don't  you  do  it.  The 
fat'll  all  be  in  the  fire  then." 

"  Skipper,"  says  he,  "  you're  a  cagey  old  bird, 
but  you  don't  know  it  all.  There's  some  things  you 
can  leave  to  me.  And,  anyhow,  whether  the  wed- 
din'  bells  chime  or  not,  all  this  talk  is  good  free 
advertisin'  for  the  store." 

'Twa'n't  long  after  this  that  the  genealogical  man 
begun  to  seem  less  gay-like.  He  and  Letitia  was 

28 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

together  as  much  as  ever,  the  Pendlebury  tree  and 
the  Beanblossom  tree  —  he  worked  on  both  at  the 
same  time  —  was  flourishing  after  the  topsy-turvy 
way  of  such  vegetables  —  from  the  upper  branches 
down  towards  the  trunks;  but  there  was  a  look  on 
Pullet's  face  as  he  pawed  through  his  books  and 
papers  that  I  couldn't  understand.  He  looked  wor 
ried  and  troubled  about  somethin'. 

;' What's  the  matter?"  I  asked  him,  once. 
"  Ain't  your  ancestors  turnin'  up  satisfactory?  " 

'  Yes,"  he  says,  polite  as  ever,  but  sort  of  con- 
descendin'  and  proud,  "  the  Beanblossom  history 
is,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so,  a  very  satisfactory 
record  indeed." 

"And  the  Pendleburys  ? "  says  I.  "George 
Washin'ton  was  first  cousin  on  their  ma's  side,  I 
s'pose." 

He  didn't  answer  for  a  minute.  Then  he  wiped 
his  specs  with  his  handkerchief.  "  The  Pendlebury 
records  are,"  he  says,  slow,  "  a  trifle  more  confused 
and  difficult.  But  I  am  progressin' — yes,  Cap'n 
Snow,  I  think  I  may  say  that  I  am  progressin'." 

The  thunderbolt  hit  us,  out  of  a  clear  sky,  the 
fust  week  in  September.  Yet  I  s'pose  we'd  ought 
to  have  seen  it  comin'  at  least  a  day  ahead.  That 
day  the  Pendlebury  gasoline  carryall  come  buzzin' 
up  to  the  front  platform  and  Letitia  steps  out,  grand 
as  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  of  course. 

29 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Cap'n  Snow,"  says  she,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  she  hesitated  just  a  minute,  "  is  Mr.  Beanblos- 
som  about?" 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  he  ain't.  I  don't  know  where 
he  is  exactly.  He  was  in  the  store  this  mornin' 
askin'  about  a  letter  he's  expectin'  from  the  Gene 
alogical  Society  folks,  but  he  went  out  right  after 
wards  and  I  ain't  seen  him  since.  I  s'posed,  of 
course,  he  was  up  to  your  house." 

"  No,"  she  says,  and  I  thought  she  colored  up  a 
little  mite;  "  he  has  not  been  there  since  day  before 
yesterday.  Perhaps  that  is  natural,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,"  speakin'  more  to  herself  than  to  me, 
"  but  .  .  .  however,  will  you  kindly  tell  him 
I  called  before  leavin'  for  the  city.  I  am  goin'  to 
Boston  on  a  shoppin'  excursion,"  she  adds,  conde- 
scendin'.  "  I  shall  return  on  Wednesday." 

She  went  away.  Pullet  didn't  show  up  until  night 
and  then  the  first  thing  he  asked  for  was  the  mail. 
When  I  told  him  about  the  Pendlebury  woman  he 
turned  round  and  went  out  again. 

Next  day  was  Saturday  and  we  was  pretty  busy, 
that  is,  Jim  Henry  and  the  clerk  was  busy.  I  was 
about  as  much  use  as  usual,  and,  as  for  Pullet,  he 
was  no  use  at  all.  A  big  green  envelope  from  the 
Genealogical  Society  come  for  him  in  the  morning 
mail  —  he  was  always  gettin'  letters  from  that  Soci 
ety  —  and  he  grabbed  at  it  and  went  out  on  the  plat- 

30 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

form.  A  little  while  afterwards  I  saw  him  roostin' 
on  a  box  out  there,  with  his  hair,  what  there  was 
of  it,  all  rumpled  up,  and  an  expression  of  such 
everlastin',  world-without-end  misery  on  his  face 
that  I  stopped  stock  still  and  looked  at  him. 

"  For  the  mercy  sakes,"  says  I,  "  what's  hap 
pened?  " 

He  turned  his  head,  stared  at  me  fishy-eyed,  and 
got  up  off  the  box. 

"  What's  wrong?  "  I  asked.  "  Is  the  world  corn- 
in'  to  an  end?  " 

He  put  one  hand  to  his  head  and  waved  the  other 
up  and  down  like  a  pump  handle. 

"  Yes,"  he  sings  out,  frantic  like.  "  It  is  ended 
already.  It  is  all  over.  I  —  I  — " 

And  with  that  he  jumps  off  the  platform  and 
goes  staggerin'  up  the  road.  I'd  have  follered  him, 
but  just  then  Jim  Henry  calls  to  me  from  inside  the 
store  and  in  a  little  while  I'd  forgot  Beanblossom 
altogether.  I  thought  of  him  once  or  twice  durin' 
the  day,  but  'twa'n't  till  about  shuttin'-up  time  that 
I  thought  enough  to  mention  him  to  Jacobs.  Then 
he  mentioned  him  fust. 

"  Whew !  "  says  he,  settin'  down  for  the  fust  time 
in  two  hours.  "Whew!  I'm  tired.  This  has  been 
the  best  day  this  concern  has  had  since  I  took  hold 
of  it,  and  I've  worked  like  a  perpetual  motion 
machine.  We'll  need  another  boy  pretty  soon,  Skip- 


THE  POSTMASTER 

per.  Pullet's  no  good  as  a  salesman.  By  the 
way,  where  is  Pullet?  I  ain't  seen  him  since 
noon." 

Neither  had  I,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  poor  critter's  sick,"  I  says.  Then 
I  started  to  tell  how  queer  he'd  acted  out  on  the  plat 
form.  I'd  just  begun  when  Amos  Hallett's  boy 
come  into  the  store  with  a  note. 

11  It's  for  you,  Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  says,  all  out  of 
breath.  "  I  meant  to  give  it  to  you  afore,  but  I 
just  this  minute  remembered  it.  Mr.  Beanblossom, 
he  give  it  to  me  at  the  depot  when  he  took  the 
up  train." 

"Took  the  up  train?"  says  I.  "Who  did? 
Not  Pul  —  Mr.  Beanblossom?" 

"  Yes,"  says  the  boy.  "  He's  gone  to  Boston, 
leastways  the  depot-master  said  he  bought  a  ticket 
for  there.  Why  ?  Didn't  you  know  it  ?  He  — ' 

I  was  too  astonished  to  speak  at  all,  but  Jim 
Henry  was  cool  as  usual. 

"  Yes,  yes,  son,"  he  says.  "  It's  all  right.  You 
trot  right  along  home  afore  you  catch  cold  in  your 
freckles."  Then,  after  the  youngster'd  gone,  he 
turns  to  me  quick.  "  Open  it,  Skipper,"  he  orders. 
"  Somethin's  happened.  Open  it." 

I  opened  the  envelope.  Inside  was  a  sheet  of 
foolscap  covered  from  top  to  bottom  with  mighty 
shaky  handwritin'.  I  read  it  out  loud. 

32 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

"  Captain  Zebulon  Snow, 
"  DEAR  SIR: 

"  Polite  as  ever,  ain't  he?  "  I  says.  "  He'd  been 
genteel  if  he  was  writin'  his  will." 

"  Go  on!  "  snaps  Jacobs.     "  Hurry  up." 

"  DEAR  SIR:  When  you  receive  this  I  shall  have 
left  Ostable,  it  may  be  forever.  I  have  made  a 
horrible  discovery,  which  has  wrecked  all  my  hopes 
and  my  life.  In  accordance  with  Mr.  Jacob's  kindly 
counsel,  I  recently  summoned  courage  to  ask  Miss 
Pendlebury  to  become  my  wife. 

"Good  heavens  to  Betsy!"  I  sang  out,  almost 
droppin'  the  letter. 

"  Go  on!"  shouts  Jacobs.     "Don't  stop  now." 

"But  he  asked  her  to  marry  him!"  I  gasps. 
"  In  accordance  with  your  advice  —  yours!  Did 
you  have  the  cheek  to  — " 

"Will  you  go  on?  Of  course  I  advised  him. 
We'd  got  the  Pendlebury  trade,  hadn't  we?  Can 
you  think  of  any  surer  way  to  cinch  it  than  to  have 
those  two  idiots  marry  each  other?  Go  on  —  or 
give  me  the  letter." 

I  went  on,  as  well  as  I  could,  everything  consid 
ered. 

"  She  did  not  refuse.  She  was  kinder  than  I  had 
a  right  to  expect.  I  realized  my  presumption, 
but  — " 

33 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Skip  that,"  orders  Jim  Henry.  "  Get  down  to 
brass  tacks." 

I    skipped    some. 

"  She  told  me  she  must  have  a  few  days'  time  to 
consider.  I  waited.  To-day  I  received  a  communi 
cation  from  the  Genealogical  Society  which  has 
dashed  my  hopes  to  the  ground.  It  was  in  connec 
tion  with  my  work  on  the  Pendlebury  family  tree. 
For  some  time  I  have  been  very  much  troubled  con 
cerning  developments  in  that  work.  The  later  Pen- 
dleburys  have  been  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  repute 
and  worth,  but  as  I  delved  deeper  into  the  past  and 

approached  the   early  generations  in  this  country, 
j " 

"  Skip  again,"  says  Jacobs. 
I  skipped. 

"  And  now,  to  my  horror,  I  find  the  fact  proven 
beyond  doubt.  Ezekiel  Jonas  Pendlebury  —  whose 
name  should  be  inscribed  upon  the  trunk  of  the  tree, 
he  being  the  original  settler  in  America  —  was 
hanged  in  the  Massachusetts  Bay  Colony  for  steal 
ing  a  hog  upon  the  Sabbath  Day." 

Then  I  did  drop  the  letter.  "  My  land  of  love !  " 
was  all  I  could  say.  And  what  Jacobs  said  was 
just  as  emphatic.  We  stared  at  each  other;  and 
then,  all  at  once,  he  began  to  laugh,  laugh  till  I 
thought  he'd  never  stop.  His  laughin'  made  me 
mad  until  I  commenced  to  see  the  funny  side  of  the 

34 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

thing;  then  I  laughed,  too,  and  the  pair  of  us  rocked 
back  and  forth  and  haw-hawed  like  loons. 

"  Oh,  dear  me  I "  says  Jim  Henry,  wipin'  his 
eyes.  "  The  original  Pendlebury  hung  for  hog 
stealin' !  " 

"  Stealin'  it  on  Sunday,"  says  I.  "  Don't  forget 
that.  Sabbath-breakin'  was  worse  than  thievin'  in 
them  days." 

"  Well,  go  on,  go  on,"  says  he.  "  There's  more 
of  it,  ain't  they?" 

There  was.  The  writing  got  finer  and  finer  as 
it  got  close  to  the  bottom  of  the  page.  Poor  Pullet 
had  caved  in  when  that  revelation  struck  him. 
Honor  compelled  him  to  tell  Letitia  the  truth  and 
how  could  he  tell  her  such  a  truth  as  that?  She, 
so  proud  and  all.  He  had  led  her  into  this  dreadful 
research  work  and  she  would  blame  him,  of  course, 
and  dismiss  him  with  scorn  and  contempt.  Her 
contempt  he  could  not  bear.  No,  he  must  go  away. 
He  could  never  face  her  again.  He  was  goin'  to 
Boston,  to  his  cousin's  house  in  Newton,  and  stay 
there  for  a  spell.  Perhaps  some  day,  after  she  had 
shut  up  her  summer  villa  and  gone,  too,  he  might 
return;  he  didn't  know.  But  would  we  forgive 
him,  etcetery  and  so  forth,  and  —  good-by. 

His  name  was  squeezed  in  the  very  corner.  I 
looked  at  Jacobs. 

"  Well,"  I  says,  some  disgusted,  "  it  looks  to  me, 
35 


THE  POSTMASTER 

as  a  man  up  a  tree  —  not  a  family  tree,  neither, 
thank  the  Lord  —  as  if  instead  of  cinchin'  the  Pen- 
dlebury  trade  your  '  advice  '  had  queered  it  for 
ever." 

He  didn't  say  nothin'.  Just  scowled  and  kicked 
his  heels  together.  Then  he  grabbed  the  letter  out 
of  my  hand  and  begun  to  read  it  again.  I  scowled, 
too,  and  set  starin'  at  the  floor  and  thinkin'.  All 
at  once  I  heard  him  swear,  a  sort  of  joyful  swear 
word,  seemed  to  me.  I  looked  up.  As  I  did  he 
swung  off  the  counter,  crumpled  up  the  letter, 
jammed  it  in  his  pocket  and  grabbed  up  his  hat. 

"  Skipper,"  he  says,  his  eyes  shinin',  "  there's  a 
night  freight  to  Boston,  ain't  there?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is,  but — " 

"  So  long,  then.  I'll  be  back  soon's  I  can.  You 
and  Bill  " — that  was  the  clerk — "  must  do  as  well 
as  you  can  for  a  day  or  so.  So  long.  But  you  just 
remember  this:  Old  Doctor  James  Henry  Jacobs, 
specialist  in  sick  businesses,  ain't  given  up  hopes  of 
this  patient  yet,  not  by  any  manner  of  means.  By, 
by." 

He  was  gone  afore  I  could  say  another  word, 
and  for  the  rest  of  that  night  and  all  day  Sunday 
and  until  Monday  evenin's  train  come  in,  I  was  like 
a  feller  walkin'  in  his  sleep.  All  creation  looked 
crazy  and  I  was  the  only  sane  critter  in  it. 

On  Monday  evenin'  he  came  sailin'  into  the  store, 
36 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

all  smiles.  'Twas  some  time  afore  I  could  get  him 
alone,  but,  when  I  could,  I  nailed  him. 

"  Now,"  says  I,  "  perhaps  you'll  tell  me  why  you 
run  off  and  left  me,  and  where  you've  been,  and 
what  you  mean  by  it,  and  a  few  other  things." 

He  grinned.  "Been?"  he  says.  "Well,  I've 
been  to  see  the  last  of  Miss  Letitia  Pendlebury  of 
Pendlebury  Villa,  Ostable,  Mass.  Miss  Pendle 
bury  is  no  more." 

"No  more!"  I  hollered.  "No  more!  Don't 
tell  me  she's  dead!  " 

"  I  sha'n't,"  says  he,  "  because  she  isn't.  She's 
alive,  all  right,  but  she's  no  more  Miss  Pendle 
bury.  She's  Mrs.  Winthrop  Adams  Beanblossom 
now,"  he  says.  "  They  were  married  this  fore 
noon." 

"Married?" 

"  Married." 

"  But  —  but  —  after  the  hangin'  news  —  and  the 
hog-stealin' — and —  Does  she  know  it?  She 
wouldn't  marry  him  after  that?" 

"  She  knows  and  she  was  tickled  to  death  to 
marry  him.  Skipper,  there  was  a  P.  S.  on  the  back 
of  that  letter  of  Pullet's.  You  didn't  turn  the  page 
over;  I  did  and  I  recognized  the  life-saver  right  off. 
Here  it  is." 

He  passed  me  Beanblossom's  letter,  back  side  up. 
There  was  a  P.  S.,  but  it  looked  to  me  more  like 

37 


THE  POSTMASTER 

the  finishin'  knock  on  the  head  than  it  did  like  a 
life-saver.     This  was  it: 

"  P.  S.  I  have  neglected  to  state  another  fact 
which  my  researches  have  brought  to  light  and 
which  makes  the  affair  even  more  hopeless.  My 
own  ancestor,  at  that  time  Governor  of  the  Colony, 
was  the  person  who  sentenced  Ezekiel  Pendlebury 
and  caused  him  to  be  hanged." 

"  And  that,"  says  I,  "  is  what  you  call  a  life- 
saver!  My  nine-times  great-granddad  has  your 
nine-times  great-granddad  hung  and  that  removes 
all  my  objections  to  marryin'  you.  Oh,  sure  and  sar- 
tin!  Yes,  indeed!  " 

He  smiled  superior.  "  Listen,  you  doubtin' 
Thomas,"  says  he.  "  You  can't  see  it,  but  Sister 
Letitia  saw  it  right  off  when  I  put  Pullet's  case 
afore  her  at  the  Hotel  Somerset,  where  she  was 
stoppin'.  Her  ancestor  was  a  hog-stealer  and  a 
hobo;  but  Beanblossom's  ancestor  was  a  Governor 
and  a  nabob  from  way  back.  If  by  just  sayin'  yes 
you  could  swap  a  pig-thief  for  a  governor,  you'd 
do  it,  wouldn't  you?  You  would  if  you'd  been 
braggin'  '  family  '  as  Letitia  has  for  the  past  three 
months.  I  saw  her,  turned  on  some  of  my  con- 
vincin'  conversation,  saw  Pullet  at  his  cousin's  and 
convinced  him.  They  were  married  at  Trinity 
parsonage  this  very  forenoon." 

38 


A  "  PULLET  "  AND  A  PEDIGREE 

"My!  my!  my!"  I  says,  after  this  had  really 
sunk  in.  "  And  the  Pendlebury  tree  is  — " 

"  There  ain't  any  Pendlebury  tree,"  he  inter 
rupts.  "  It's  the  kindlin'-bin  for  that  shrub.  But 
the  Beanblossom  tree,  with  governors  and  judges 
and  generals  proppin'  up  every  main  limb,  is  goin' 
to  hang  right  next  to  Pa  Pendlebury's  picture  in  the 
mornin'  room  of  Pendlebury  Villa.  And  the  head 
of  Pendlebury  Villa  is  the  senior  partner  in  the 
Ostable  Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes  and 
Fancy  Goods  Store." 

He  was  wrong  there.  Letitia  Pendlebury  Bean- 
blossom  had  another  surprise  under  her  bonnet  and 
she  sprung  it  when  she  'got  back.  She  sent  for 
Jacobs  and  me  and  made  proclamation  that  her  hus 
band  would  withdraw  from  the  firm. 

"  I  trust  that  Mr.  Beanblossom  and  I  are  dem 
ocratic,"  she  says.  "  Of  course  we  shall  continue 
to  purchase  our  supplies  from  you  gentlemen.  But, 
really,"  she  says,  "  you  must  see  that  a  man  whose 
ancestor  by  direct  descent  was  Governor  of  Massa 
chusetts  Bay  Colony  could  scarcely  humiliate  himself 
by  engaging  in  trade." 

So,  instead  of  gettin'  out  of  storekeepin',  I  was 
left  deeper  in  it  than  ever.  But  Jim  Henry  cheered 
me  up  by  sayin'  I  hadn't  really  been  in  it  at  all  yet. 

"  This  foundlin'  is  only  beginnin'  to  set  up  and 
take  notice,"  he  says.  "  Skipper,  you  put  your  faith 

39 


THE  POSTMASTER 

in  old  Doctor  Jacobs'  Teethin'  Syrup  and  Tonic  for 
Business  Infants." 

"  I  guess  that's  where  it's  put,"  says  I,  drawin'  a 
long  breath. 

"  It  couldn't  be  in  a  better  place,  could  it?  No, 
we've  got  a  good  start,  but  that's  all  it  is.  Before 
I  get  through  you'll  see.  We've  got  to  make  this 
store  prominent  and  keep  it  prominent,  and  the  best 
way  to  do  that  is  to  be  prominent  ourselves.  Skip 
per,  I  wish  you'd  go  into  politics." 

"  Politics !  "  says  I,  soon  as  I  could  catch  my 
breath.  "  Well,  when  I  do,  I  give  you  leave  to 
order  my  room  at  the  Taunton  Asylum.  What  do 
you  cal'late  I'd  better  try  to  get  elected  to  —  Presi 
dent  or  pound-keeper?" 

He  laughed. 

"  Both  of  them  jobs  are  filled  at  the  present  time," 
I  went  on,  sarcastic.  "  So  is  every  other  I  can  think 
of  off-hand." 

'  That's  all  right,"  says  he.  "  Some  of  these 
days  you'll  hold  office  right  in  this  town.  We  need 
political  prestige  in  our  business  and  you,  Cap'n  Snow, 
bein'  the  solid  citizen  of  this  close  corporation,  will 
have  to  sacrifice  yourself  on  the  altar  of  public  duty." 

"  Nary  sacrifice,"  says  I.  Which  shows  how  little 
the  average  man  knows  what's  in  store  for  him. 


40 


CHAPTER  III 

I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

WHEN  I  shook  hands  with  Mary  Blaisdell 
and  left  her  standin'  under  the  wistaria 
vine  at  the  front  door  of  the  little  old 
house  that  had  belonged  to  Henry,  all  I  said  was 
for  her  to  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  and  not  to  be  any 
bluer  than  was  necessary.  "  Ostable's  lost  a  good 
postmaster,"  says  I,  "  and  you've  lost  a  kind, 
thoughtful,  providin'  brother.  I  know  it  looks 
pretty  foggy  ahead  to  you  just  now  and  you  can't 
see  how  you're  goin'  to  get  along;  but  you  keep  up 
your  pluck  and  a  way'll  be  provided.  Meantime 
I'm  goin'  to  think  hard  and  perhaps  I  can  see  a  light 
somewheres.  My  owners  used  to  tell  me  I  was  con- 
sider'ble  of  a  navigator,  so  between  us  we'd  ought 
to  fetch  you  into  port." 

Her  eyes  were  wet,  but  she  smiled,  rainbow 
fashion,  through  the  shower,  and  said  I  was  awful 
good  and  she'd  never  forget  how  kind  I'd  been 
through  it  all. 

"  Whatever  becomes  of  me,  Cap'n  Snow,"  she 
says,  u  I  shall  never  forget  that." 


THE  POSTMASTER 

What  I'd  done  wa'n't  worth  talkin'  about,  so  I 
said  good-by  and  hurried  away.  At  the  top  of  the 
hill  I  turned  and  looked  back.  She  was  still  standin' 
in  the  door  and,  in  spite  of  the  wistaria  and  the 
hollyhocks  and  the  green  summer  stuff  everywheres, 
the  whole  picture  was  pretty  forlorn.  The  little 
white  buildin'  by  the  road,  with  the  sign,  "  Post- 
office  "  over  the  window,  looked  more  lonesome  still. 
And  yet  the  sight  of  it  and  the  sight  of  that  sign 
give  me  an  inspiration.  I  stood  stock  still  and 
thumped  my  fists  together. 

"Why  not?"  says  I  to  myself.  "By  mighty, 
yes!  Why  not?  " 

You  see,  Henry  Blaisdell  was  one  of  the  few 
Ostable  folks  that  I'd  known  as  a  boy  and  who  was 
livin'  there  yet  when  I  came  back.  He  was  younger 
than  I,  and  Mary,  his  sister,  was  younger  still.  I 
liked  Henry  and  his  death  was  a  sort  of  personal 
loss  to  me,  as  you  might  say.  I  liked  Mary,  too. 
She  was  always  so  quiet  and  common-sense  and  com 
fortable.  She  didn't  gossip,  and  the  way  she  helped 
her  brother  in  the  post-office  was  a  treat  to  see. 
She  wa'n't  exactly  what  you'd  call  young,  and  the 
world  hadn't  been  all  fair  winds  and  smooth  water 
for  her,  by  a  whole  lot;  but,  in  spite  of  it,  she'd 
managed  to  keep  sweet  and  fresh.  She  and  Henry 
and  I  had  got  to  be  good  friends  and  I  gen'rally 
took  a  walk  up  towards  their  house  of  a  Sunday  or 

42 


I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

managed  to  run  in  at  the  post-office  buildin'  at  least 
once  every  week-day  and  have  a  chat  with  'em. 

When  I  heard  of  Henry's  dyin'  so  sudden  my 
fust  thought  was  about  Mary  and  what  would  she 
do.  How  was  she  goin'  to  get  along?  I  thought 
of  that  even  durin'  the  funeral,  and  now,  the  day 
after  it,  when  I  went  up  to  see  her,  I  was  thinkin' 
of  it  still.  And,  at  last,  I  believed  I  had  got  the 
answer  to  the  puzzle. 

Half  the  way  back  to  the  "  Ostable  Grocery,  Dry 
Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes  and  Fancy  Goods  Store," 
I  was  thinkin'  of  my  new  notion  and  makin'  up  my 
mind.  The  other  half  I  was  layin'  plans  to  put  it 
through.  When  I  walked  into  the  store,  Jim  Henry 
met  me. 

"  Hello,  Skipper,"  says  he,  brisk  and  fresh  as  a 
no'theast  breeze  in  dog  days,  "  did  you  ever  hear 
the  story  about  the  office-seekin'  feller  in  Wash- 
in'ton,  back  in  President  Harrison's  time?  He 
wanted  a  gov'ment  job  and  he  happened  to  notice 
a  crowd  down  by  the  Potomac  and  asked  what  was 
up.  They  told  him  one  of  the  Treasury  clerks  had 
been  found  drowned.  He  run  full  speed  to  the 
White  House,  saw  the  President,  and  asked  for  the 
drowned  chap's  place.  '  You're  too  late,'  says  Har 
rison,  '  I've  just  app'inted  the  man  that  saw  him 
fall  in.'  " 

I'd  heard  it  afore,  but  I  laughed,  out  of  polite- 
43 


THE  POSTMASTER 

ness,  and  wanted  to  know  what  made  him  think  of 
the  yarn. 

'  Why,"  says  he,  "  because  that's  the  way  it's 
workin'  here  in  Ostable.  Poor  old  BlaisdelFs 
funeral  was  only  yesterday  and  it's  already  settled 
who's  to  be  the  new  postmaster." 

Considerin'  what  I'd  been  goin'  over  in  my  mind 
all  the  way  home  from  Mary's,  this  statement,  just 
at  this  time,  knocked  me  pretty  nigh  out  of  water. 

"  What  ?  "  I  gasped.     "  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  Why  wouldn't  I  know?  "  says  he.  "  I  got  the 
advance  information  right  from  the  oracle.  I  was 
told  not  ten  minutes  since  that  the  app'intment  was 
to  go  to  Abubus  Payne." 

I  stared  at  him.  "Abubus  Payne!"  says  I. 
"Abubus —  Are  you  dreamin'?" 

He  laughed.  "  I'd  never  dream  a  name  like 
'  Abubus,'  he  says,  *  even  after  one  of  our  Poquit 
House  dinners.  No,  it's  no  dream.  The  Major 
was  just  in  and  he  says  his  mind  is  made  up.  That 
settles  it,  don't  it?  You  wouldn't  contradict  the  all- 
wise  mouthpiece  of  Providence,  would  you,  Cap'n 
Zeb?" 

I  never  said  anything  —  not  then.  I  was  realizin' 
that,  if  I  wanted  Mary  Blaisdell  to  be  postmistress 
at  Ostable  —  which  was  the  inspiration  I  was  took 
with  when  I  looked  back  at  her  from  the  hill  — 
I'd  got  to  do  somethin'  besides  say.  I'd  got  to  work 

44 


I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

and  work  hard.  And  even  at  that  my  work  was 
cut  out  from  the  small  end  of  the  goods.  To  beat 
Major  Cobden  Clark  in  a  political  fight  was  no  boy's 
job.  But  Abubus  Payne  1  Abubus  Payne  post 
master  at  Ostable ! !  Think  of  it !  Maybe  you  can; 
/  couldn't  without  stimulants. 

You  see,  this  critter  Abubus  —  did  you  ever  hear 
such  a  name  in  your  life?  —  had  lived  around  'most 
every  town  on  the  Cape  at  one  time  or  another. 
He  and  his  wife  wa'n't  what  you'd  call  permanent 
settlers  anywhere,  but  had  a  habit  of  breakin'  out 
in  new  and  unexpected  places,  like  a  p'ison-ivy  rash. 
He  worked  some  at  carpenterin',  when  he  couldn't 
help  it,  but  his  main  business,  as  you  might  say,  had 
always  been  lookin'  for  an  easier  job.  In  Ostable 
he'd  got  one.  He  was  caretaker  and  general  nurse 
of  Major  Cobden  Clark.  His  wife,  who  was  about 
as  shiftless  as  he  was,  was  the  Major's  housekeeper. 

And  the  Major?  Well,  the  Major  was  a  star,  a 
planet  —  yes,  in  his  own  opinion,  the  whole  solar 
system.  He  was  big  and  fleshy  and  straight  and 
gray-haired  and  red-faced.  He  belonged  to  land 
knows  how  many  clubs  and  societies  and  milishys, 
includin'  the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery  Com 
pany  of  Boston  and  the  Old  Guard  of  New  York. 
He  had  political  influence  and  a  long  pocketbook 
and  a  short  temper.  Likewise  he  suffered  from  pig- 
headedness  and  chronic  indigestion.  'Twas  the  in- 

45 


THE  POSTMASTER 

digestion  that  brought  him  to  Ostable  and  Abubus; 
or  rather  'twas  his  doctor,  Dr.  Conquest  Payne,  the 
celebrated  food  and  diet  specializer  —  see  advertise 
ments  in  'most  any  newspaper  —  who  sent  him  there. 
Abubus  was  Doctor  Conquest's  cousin  and  I  judge 
the  two  of  'em  figgered  the  Clark  stomach  and 
income  as  things  too  good  to  be  treated  outside  of 
the  family. 

Anyway,  the  spring  afore  I  landed  in  Ostable, 
down  comes  the  Major,  buys  a  good-sized  house  on 
the  lower  road  nigh  the  water  front,  hires  Abubus 
and  his  wife  to  look  out  for  the  place  and  him,  and 
settles  down  to  the  simple  life,  which  wa'n't  the 
kind  he'd  been  livin',  by  a  consider'ble  sight.  But 
he  lived  it  now;  yes,  sir,  he  did!  He  lived  by  the 
clock  and  he  ate  and  slept  by  the  clock,  and  that 
clock  was  wound  up  and  set  accordin'  to  the  rules 
prescribed  by  Dr.  Conquest  Payne,  "  World  Famous 
Dietitian  and  Food  Specialist  " —  see  more  adver 
tising  with  a  tintype  of  the  Doctor  in  the  corner. 

Nigh  as  I  could  find  out  the  diet  was  a  queer  one. 
It  give  me  dyspepsy  just  to  think  of  it.  Breakfast 
at  seven  sharp,  consistin'  of  a  dozen  nut  meats,  two 
raw  prunes,  some  "whole  wheat  bread" — what 
ever  that  is  —  and  a  pint  of  hot  water.  Luncheon 
at  quarter  to  eleven,  with  another  assortment  of 
similar  truck.  Afternoon  snack  at  three  and  din 
ner  at  half-past  seven.  He  had  two  soft  b'iled  eggs 

46 


I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

for  dinner,  or  else  a  two-inch  slice  of  rare  steak,, 
and,  with  them  exceptions,  the  whole  bill  of  fare 
was,  accordin'  to  my  notion,  more  fittin'  for  a  goat 
than  a  human  bein'.  He  mustn't  smoke  and  he 
mustn't  drink:  Considerin'  what  he'd  been  used 
to  afore  the  "  World  Famous  "  one  hooked  him  it 
ain't  much  wonder  that  he  was  as  crabbed  and 
cranky  as  a  liveoak  windlass. 

However,  it  —  or  somethin'  else  —  had  made 
him  feel  better  since  he  landed  in  Ostable  and  he 
swore  by  that  Conquest  Payne  man  and  everybody 
connected  with  him.  And  if  he  once  took  a  notion 
into  his  tough  old  head,  nothin'  short  of  a  surgeon's 
operation  could  get  it  out.  He'd  decided  to  make 
Abubus  postmaster  and  he'd  move  heaven  and  earth 
to  do  it.  All  right,  then,  it  was  up  to  me  to  do  some 
movin'  likewise.  I  can  be  a  little  mite  pig-headed 
myself,  if  I  set  out  to  be. 

And  I  set  out  right  then.  It  may  seem  funny  to 
say  so,  but  I  was  about  as  good  a  friend  as  the 
Major  had  in  Ostable.  Course  he  had  a  tremen 
dous  influence  with  the  selectmen  and  the  like  of 
that,  owin'  to  his  soldier  record  and  his  pompous- 
ness  and  the  amount  of  taxes  he  paid.  And  he  and 
I  never  agreed  on  one  single  p'int.  But  just  the 
same  he  spent  the  heft  of  his  evenin's  at  the  store 
and  I  was  always  glad  to  see  him.  I  respected  the 
cantankerous  old  critter,  and  liked  him,  in  a  way.. 

47 


THE  POSTMASTER 

And  I'm  inclined  to  think  he  respected  and  liked 
me.  I  cal'late  both  of  us  enjoyed  fightin'  with 
somebody  that  never  tried  for  an  under-holt  or  quit 
even  when  he  was  licked. 

So  that  night,  when  he  comes  puffin'  in  and  sets 
down,  as  usual,  in  the  most  comfortable  chair,  I 
went  over  and  come  to  anchor  alongside  of  him. 

"  Hello,"  he  grunts,  "  you  old  salt  hayseed.  Any 
closer  to  bankruptcy  than  you  was  yesterday?  " 

'  Your  bill's  a  little  bigger  and  more  overdue, 
that's  all,"  says  I.  "  See  here,  I  want  to  talk  poli 
tics  with  you.  Mary  Blaisdell,  Henry's  sister,  is 
goin'  to  have  the  post-office  now  he's  gone,  and  I 
want  you  to  put  your  name  on  her  petition.  Not 
that  she  needs  it,  or  anybody  else's,  but  just  to  help 
fill  up  the  paper." 

Well,  sir,  you  ought  to  have  seen  him !  His  red 
face  fairly  puffed  out,  like  a  young-one's  rubber  bal 
loon.  He  whirled  round  on  the  edge  of  his  chair  — 
he  was  too  big  to  move  in  any  other  part  of  it  — 
and  glared  at  me.  What  did  I  mean  by  that? 
Hey?  Was  my  punkin  head  sp'ilin'  now  that  warm 
weather  had  come,  or  what?  Had  I  heard  what 
he  told  my  partner  that  very  mornin'? 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  I  heard  it.  But  I  judged  you 
must  have  broke  your  rule  about  drinkin'  liquor, 
or  else  your  dyspepsy  has  struck  to  your  brains. 
No  sane  person  would  set  out  to  make  Abubus 

48 


I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

Payne  anythin'  more  responsible  than  keeper  of  a 
pig  pen.     You  didn't  mean  it,  of  course." 

He  didn't!  He'd  show  me  what  he  meant! 
Abubus  was  the  most  honest,  able  man  on  the  whole 
blessed  sand-heap,  and  he  was  goin'  to  be  postmas 
ter.  Mary  Blaisdell  was  an  old  maid,  good  enough 
of  her  kind,  maybe,  but  the  place  for  her  was  some 
kind  of  an  asylum  or  home  for  incompetent  females. 
He'd  sign  a  petition  to  put  her  in  one  of  them  places, 
but  nothin'  else.  Abubus  was  just  as  good  as  ap- 
p'inted  already. 

We  had  it  back  and  forth.  There  was  consid- 
er'ble  chair  thumpin'  and  hollerin',  I  shouldn't  won 
der.  Anyhow,  afore  'twas  over  every  loafer  on 
the  main  road  was  crowdin'  'round  us  and  Jim  Henry 
Jacobs  was  pacin'  up  and  down  back  of  the  counter 
^vith  the  most  worried  look  on  his  face  ever  I  see 
there.  It  ended  by  the  Major's  jumpin'  to  his  feet 
and  headin'  for  the  door. 

"You  —  you  —  you  tarry  old  imbecile,"  he  hol 
lers,  shakin'  a  fat  forefinger  at  me,  "  I'll  show  you 
a  few  things.  I'll  never  set  foot  in  this  rathole  of 
yours  again." 

"  You  better  not,"  I  sung  out.  "If  you  dare  to, 
I'll—" 

"What?"  he  interrupts.  "You'll  what?  I'll 
be  back  here  to-morrow  night.  Then  what'll  you 
do?" 

49 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  I'll  show  you  Mary  Blaisdell's  petition,"  I  says. 
"  And  the  names  on  it'll  make  you  curl  up  and  quit 
like  a  sick  caterpillar." 

"Humph!  I'll  show  you  a  petition  for  Abubus 
Payne,  next  postmaster  of  Ostable,  with  a  string  of 
names  on  it  so  long  you'll  die  of  old  age  afore  you  can 
finish  readin'  'em.  Bah!  " 

With  that  he  went  out  and  I  went  into  the  back 
room  to  wash  my  face  in  cold  water. 

I  wrote  the  headin'  to  the  Blaisdell  petition  afore 
I  turned  in  that  very  night.  Next  mornin'  I  hur 
ried  over  and,  after  consider'ble  arguin',  I  got  Mary 
to  say  she'd  try  for  the  place.  All  the  rest  of  that 
day  I  put  in  drivin'  from  Dan  to  Beersheby  gettin' 
signatures.  And  I  got  'em,  too,  a  schooner  load 
of  'em.  I  had  the  petition  ready  to  show  the  Major 
that  evenin';  but,  when  he  come  into  the  store,  he 
had  a  petition,  too,  just  as  long  as  mine.  And  the 
worst  of  it  was,  in  a  lot  of  cases  the  same  names 
was  signed  to  both  papers.  Accordin'  to  those  peti 
tions  the  heft  of  Ostable  folks  wanted  somebody  to 
keep  post-office  and  they  didn't  much  care  who. 
They  wanted  to  please  me  and  they  didn't  like  to 
say  no  to  the  Major. 

He  was  mad  and  I  was  mad  and  we  had  another 
session.  But  he  wouldn't  cross  the  names  off  and 
neither  would  I  and  so,  after  another  week,  both 
petitions  went  in  as  they  was.  All  the  good  they 

50 


I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

seemed  to  do  was  that  we  each  got  a  letter  from 
the  Post-office  Department  and  Mary  Blaisdell  was 
allowed  to  hold  over  her  brother's  place  until  some 
body  was  picked  out  permanent.  And  every  evenin' 
Major  Clark  came  into  the  store  to  tell  me  Abubus 
was  sure  to  win  and  get  my  prediction  that  Mary 
was  as  good  as  elected.  One  week  dragged  along 
and  then  another,  and  'twas  still  a  draw,  fur's  a 
body  could  tell.  The  Washin'ton  folks  wa'n't  makin' 
a  peep. 

But  old  Ancient  and  Honorable  Clark  was  workin' 
his  wires  on  the  quiet  and  I  must  give  in  that  he 
pulled  one  on  me  that  I  wa'n't  expectin'.  The 
whole  town  had  got  sort  of  tired  of  guessin'  and 
talkin'  about  the  post-office  squabble  and  had  drifted 
back  into  the  reg'lar  rut  of  pickin'  their  neighbors  to 
pieces.  The  Major  had  set  'em  talkin'  on  a  new 
line  durin'  the  last  fortni't.  He'd  been  fixin'  up 
his  house  and  havin'  the  grounds  seen  to,  and  so 
forth.  Likewise  he'd  bought  an  automobile,  one 
of  the  nobbiest  kind.  This  was  somethin'  of  a  sur 
prise,  'cause  afore  that  he'd  been  pretty  much  down 
on  autos  and  did  his  drivin'  around  in  a  high-seated 
sort  of  buggy  — "  dog  cart  "  he  called  it  —  though 
'twas  hauled  by  a  horse  and  he  hated  dogs  so  that 
he  kept  a  shotgun  loaded  with  rock  salt  on  his  porch 
to  drive  stray  ones  off  his  premises. 

"  Who's  goin'  to  run  that  smell-wagon  of  yours?  " 
51 


THE  POSTMASTER 

I  asked  him,  sarcastic.  He  kept  comin'  to  the  store 
just  the  same  as  ever  and  we  had  our  reg'lar  rows 
constant.  I  cal'late  we'd  both  have  missed  'em  if 
they'd  stopped.  I  know  I  should. 

"Humph!"  he  snorts;  "smell-wagon,  hey?  If 
it  smells  any  worse  than  that  old  fish  dory  of  yours, 
I'll  have  it  buried,  for  the  sake  of  the  public  health." 

By  "  fish  dory  "  he  meant  a  catboat  I'd  bought. 
She  was  named  the  Glide  and  she  could  glide  away 
from  anything  of  her  inches  in  the  bay. 

"But  who's  goin'  to  run  that  auto?"  I  asked 
again.  "  'Tain't  possible  you're  goin'  to  do  it  your 
self.  If  she  went  by  alcohol  power,  I  could  under 
stand,  but — " 

"  Hush  up !  "  he  says,  forgettin'  to  be  mad  for 
once  and  speakin'  actually  plaintive.  "  Don't  talk 
that  way,  Snow,"  says  he.  "If  you  knew  how  much 
I  wanted  a  drink  you  wouldn't  speak  lightly  of 
alcohol." 

"Why  don't  you  take  one,  then?"  I  wanted  to 
know.  "  I  believe  'twould  do  you  good.  That  and 
a  square  meal.  If  you'd  forget  your  prunes  and 
your  nutmeats  and  your  quack  doctorin' — " 

He  was  mad  then,  all  right.  To  slur  at  the 
"  World  Famous "  was  a  good  deal  worse  than 
murder,  in  his  mind.  He  expressed  his  opinion  of 
me,  free  and  loud.  He  said  I'd  ought  to  try  Doc 
tor  Conquest,  myself,  for  developin'  my  brains.  The 

52 


I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

Doctor  was  pretty  nigh  a  vegetarian,  he  said,  and 
my  head  was  mainly  cabbage  —  and  so  on.  Inci 
dentally  he  announced  that  Abubus  was  to  run  the 
new  auto. 

"Abubus!"  says  I.  "Why,  he  don't  know  a 
gas  engine  from  a  coffee  mill!  He  wouldn't  know 
what  the  craft's  for." 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  says.  "  He's  been  takin' 
lessons  at  the  garage  in  Hyannis  and  he  can  run 
it  like  a  bird.  He  knows  what  it's  for.  He!  he! 
so  do  I.  By  the  way,  Snow,  are  you  ready  to  give 
up  the  post-office  to  my  candidate  yet?" 

"Give  up?"  says  I.  "Tut!  tut!  tut!  I  hate 
to  hear  a  supposed  sane  man  talk  so.  Mary  Blais- 
dell  handles  the  mail  in  the  Ostable  post-office  for 
the  next  three  years  —  longer,  if  she  wants  to." 

"  Bet  you  five  she  don't,"  he  says. 

"  Take  the  bet,"  says  I. 

He  went  out  chucklin'.  I  wondered  what  he  had 
up  his  sleeve.  A  week  later  I  found  out.  Con 
gressman  Shelton,  our  district  Representative  at 
Washin'ton,  came  to  Ostable  to  look  the  post-office 
situation  over  and,  lo  and  behold  you,  he  comes  as 
Major  Cobden  Clark's  guest,  to  stay  at  his  house. 

When  Jim  Henry  Jacobs  learned  that,  he  took 
me  to  one  side  to  give  me  some  brotherly  advice. 

"  It's  all  up  for  Mary  now,"  he  says.  "  She 
can't  win.  Clark  and  Shelton  are  old  chums  in  poli- 

53 


THE  POSTMASTER 

tics.  There's  only  one  chance  to  beat  Payne  and 
that's  to  bring  for'ard  a  compromise  candidate  —  a 
dark  horse." 

"  Rubbish  1  "  I  sung  out.  "  Dark  horse  be  hanged ! 
Shelton's  square  as  a  brick.  Nobody  can  bribe  him." 

"  It  ain't  a  question  of  bribin',"  he  says.  "If  it 
was,  you  could  bribe,  too.  Shelton  is  square,  and 
that's  why  he'd  welcome  a  compromise  candidate. 
But  if  it  comes  to  a  fight  between  Mary  Blaisdell 
and  Abubus  Payne,  Abubus'll  win  because  he's  the 
Major's  pet.  Shelton  knows  the  Major  better  than 
he  knows  you.  Take  my  advice  now  and  look  out 
for  the  dark  horse." 

But  I  wouldn't  listen.  All  the  next  hour  I  was 
ugly  as  a  bear  with  a  sore  head  and  long  afore  din 
ner  time  I  told  Jacobs  I  was  goin'  for  a  sail  in  the 
Glide.  "  Goin'  somewheres  on  salt  water  where  the 
air's  clean  and  not  p'isoned  by  politics  and  automo 
biles  and  congressmen  and  Paynes,"  I  told  him. 

I  headed  out  of  the  harbor  and  then  run,  afore 
a  wind  that  was  fair  but  gettin'  lighter  all  the  time, 
up  the  bay.  I  sailed  and  sailed  until  some  of  my 
bad  temper  wore  off  and  my  appetite  begun  to  come 
back.  All  the  time  I  was  settin'  at  the  tiller  I  was 
thinkin'  over  the  post-office  situation  and,  try  as  hard 
as  I  could  to  see  the  bright  side  for  Mary  Blaisdell, 
it  looked  pretty  dark.  The  Major  would  give  that 
Shelton  man  the  time  of  his  life  and  he'd  talk 

54 


I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

Abubus  to  him  to  beat  the  cars.  I  couldn't  get  at 
the  Congressman  to  put  in  an  oar  for  Mary  and  — 
well,  I'd  have  discounted  my  five-dollar  bet  for  about 
seventy-five  cents,  at  that  time. 

I  thought  and  thought  and  sailed  and  sailed. 
When  I  came  to  myself  and  realized  I  was  hungry 
the  Glide  was  miles  away  from  Ostable.  I  came 
about  and  started  to  beat  back;  then  I  saw  I  was 
in  for  a  long  job.  Let  alone  that  the  wind  was 
ahead,  'twas  dyin'  fast,  and  if  I  knew  the  signs  of 
a  flat  calm,  there  was  one  due  in  half  an  hour.  I 
took  as  long  tacks  as  I  could,  but  I  made  mighty 
little  progress. 

On  the  second  tack  inshore  I  came  up  abreast  of 
Jonathan  Crowell's  house  at  Heron  P'int.  Jona 
than's  just  a  no-account  longshoreman  or  he  wouldn't 
live  in  that  place,  which  is  the  fag-end  of  creation. 
There's  a  twenty-mile  stretch  of  beach  and  pines  and 
such  close  to  the  shore  there,  with  a  road  along  it. 
The  first  eight  mile  of  that  road  is  pretty  good 
macadam  and  hard  dirt.  A  land  company  tried  to 
develop  that  section  of  beach  once  and  they  put  in 
the  road;  but  the  land  didn't  sell  and  the  company 
busted  and  after  that  eight  mile  the  road  is  just 
beach  sand,  soft  and  coarse.  The  strip  of  solid 
ground,  with  its  pines  and  scrub-oaks,  is,  as  I  said 
afore,  twenty  mile  long,  but  it's  only  a  half  mile  or 
so  wide.  Between  it  and  the  main  cape  is  a  tre- 

55 


THE  POSTMASTER 

mendous  salt  marsh,  all  cut  up  with  cricks  that 
nobody  can  get  over  without  a  boat.  Jonathan's 
is  the  only  house  for  the  whole  twenty  mile,  except 
the  lighthouse  buildin's  down  at  the  end.  The  land 
company  put  up  a  few  summer  shacks  on  specula 
tion,  but  they're  all  rickety  and  fallin'  to  pieces. 

I  knew  Jonathan  had  gone  to  Bayport,  quahaug 
rakin',  and  that  his  wife  was  visitin'  over  to  Well- 
mouth,  so  when  the  Glide  crept  in  towards  the  beach 
and  I  saw  a  couple  of  folk  by  the  Crowell  house, 
I  was  surprised.  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to 
'em,  however,  until  I  was  just  about  ready  to  put 
the  helm  over  and  stand  out  into  the  bay  again. 
Then  they  come  runnin'  down  to  the  beach,  yellin' 
and  wavin'  their  arms.  I  thought  one  of  'em  had 
a  familiar  look  and,  as  I  come  closer,  I  got  more 
and  more  sure  of  it.  It  didn't  seem  possible,  but 
it  was  —  one  of  those  fellers  on  the  beach  was  Major 
Cobden  Clark. 

"  Hi-i !  "  yells  the  Major,  hoppin'  up  and  down 
and  wavin'  both  arms  as  if  he  was  practicin'  flyin'; 
"  Hi-i-i !  you  man  in  the  boat !  Come  here !  I 
want  you !  " 

That  was  him,  all  over.  He  wanted  me,  so  of 
course  I  must  come.  My  feelin's  in  the  matter 
didn't  count  at  all.  I  run  the  Glide  in  as  nigh  the 
beach  as  I  dared  and  then  fetched  her  up  into  what 
little  wind  there  was  left. 

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I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

"  Ahoy  there,  Major,"  I  sung  out.  "  Is  that 
you?" 

"  Hey?  "  he  shouts.  "  Do  you  know —  Why, 
I  believe  it's  Snow!  Is  that  you,  Snow?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  me,"  I  hollers.  "  What  in  time  are 
you  doin'  way  over  here?  " 

"  Never  mind  what  I'm  doin',"  he  roared.  "  You 
come  ashore  here.  I  want  you." 

If  I  hadn't  been  so  curious  to  know  what  he  was 
doin',  I'd  have  seen  him  in  glory  afore  I  ever 
thought  of  obeyin'  an  order  from  him;  but  I  was 
curious.  While  I  was  considering  the  breeze  give 
a  final  puff  and  died  out  altogether.  That  settled 
it.  I  might  as  well  go  ashore  as  stay  aboard.  I 
couldn't  get  anywhere  without  wind.  So  I  hove 
anchor  and  dropped  the  mains'l. 

"  Come  on !  "  he  kept  yellin'.  "  What  are  you 
waitin'  for?  Don't  you  hear  me  say  I  want  you?  " 

I  had  on  my  long-legged  rubber  boots  and  the 
water  wa'n't  more'n  up  to  my  knees.  When  I  got 
good  and  ready,  I  swung  over  the  side  and  waded 
to  the  beach. 

"  Hello,  Maje,"  I  says,  brisk  and  easy,  "  you 
ought  not  to  holler  like  that.  You'll  bust  a  b'iler. 
Your  face  looks  like  a  red-hot  stove  already." 

He  mopped  his  forehead.  "  Shut  up,  you  old 
fool,"  says  he.  '  Think  I'm  here  to  listen  to 
a  lecture  about  my  face?  You  carry  Mr.  Shelton 

57 


THE  POSTMASTER 

and  me  out  to  that  boat  of  yours.     We  want  you 
to  sail  us  home." 

So  the  other  chap  was  the  Congressman.  I'd 
guessed  as  much.  I  went  up  to  him  and  held  out 
my  hand. 

"  Pleased  to  know  you,  Mr.  Shelton,"  says  I. 
"  Had  the  pleasure  of  votin'  for  you  last  fall." 

Shelton  shook  and  smiled.  "  This  is  Cap'n 
Snow,  isn't  it?  "  he  says,  his  eyes  twinklin'.  "  Glad 
to  meet  you,  I'm  sure.  I've  heard  of  you  often." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  says  I.  "  Major  Clark 
and  me  are  old  chums  and  I  cal'late  he's  mentioned 
my  name  at  least  once.  Hey,  Maje?" 

The  Major  grinned.  I  grinned,  too ;  and  Shelton 
laughed  out  loud. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  talkin'  machine  in  my  life," 
snaps  Clark.  "  Don't  stop  to  tell  us  the  story  of 
your  life.  Take  us  aboard  that  boat  of  yours. 
You've  got  to  get  us  back  to  Ostable,  d'you  under 
stand?" 

"  Have,  hey?  "  says  I.  "  I  appreciate  the  honor, 
but  .  .  .  However,  maybe  you  won't  mind 
tellin'  me  what  you're  doin'  here,  twelve  miles  from 
nowhere?" 

The  Major  was  too  mad  to  answer,  so  Shelton 
did  it  for  him. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  smilin'  and  with  a  wink  at  his 
partner,  "  we  came  in  the  Major's  auto,  but — " 

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I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

He  stopped  without  finishin'  the  sentence. 

"The  auto?"  says  I.  "  You  came  in  the  auto? 
Well,  why  don't  you  go  back  in  it?  What's  the 
matter?  Has  it  broke  down?  Humph!  I  ain't 
surprised;  them  things  are  always  breakin'  down, 
'specially  the  cheap  ones." 

That  stirred  up  the  kettle.  The  Major  give  me 
to  understand  that  his  auto  cost  six  thousand  dollars 
and  was  the  best  blessedty-blank  car  on  earth.  It 
wa'n't  the  auto's  fault.  It  hadn't  broke  down.  It 
had  stuck  in  the  eternal  and  everlastin'  sand  and 
they  couldn't  get  it  out,  that  was  the  trouble. 

"  But  Abubus  can  get  it  out,  can't  he?"  says  I. 
"  Abubus  runs  it  like  a  bird,  you  told  me  so  yourself. 
Now  a  bird  can  fly,  and  if  you  want  to  get  from 
here  to  Ostable  in  anything  like  a  straight  line, 
you've  got  to  fly.  By  the  way,  where  is  Abubus?  " 

Three  or  four  more  questions,  and  a  hogshead 
of  profanity  on  the  Major's  part,  and  I  had  the 
whole  story.  He  and  Shelton  had  started  for  a  ride 
way  up  the  Cape.  They  was  cal'latin'  to  get  home 
by  eleven  o'clock,  but  the  machine  went  so  fast  that 
they  got  where  they  was  goin'  early  and  had  time 
to  spare.  Shelton  happened  to  remember  that  he'd 
sunk  some  money  in  the  land  company  I  mentioned 
and  he  thought  he'd  like  to  see  the  place  where 
'twas  sunk.  He  asked  Abubus  if  they  couldn't  run 
along  the  beach  road  a  ways.  Abubus  hemmed  and 

59 


THE  POSTMASTER 

hawed  and  didn't  know  for  sure  —  he  never  was 
sure  about  anything.  But  the  Major  said  course 
they  could;  that  car  could  go  anywhere.  So  they 
turned  in  way  up  by  Sandwich  and  come  b'iliri'  down 
alongshore.  Long's  the  old  land  company  road 
lasted  they  was  all  right,  but  when,  runnin'  thirty- 
five  miles  an  hour,  they  whizzed  off  the  end  of  that 
road,  'twas  different.  The  automobile  lit  In  the 
soft  sand  like  a  snow-plow  and  stopped  —  and 
stayed.  They  tried  to  dig  it  out  with  boards  from 
Jonathan  Crowell's  pig  pen,  but  the  more  they  dug 
the  deeper  it  sunk.  At  last  they  give  it  up;  nothin' 
but  a  team  of  horses  could  haul  that  machine  out  of 
that  sand.  So  Abubus  starts  to  walk  the  ten  or 
eleven  miles  back  to  civilization  and  livery  stables 
and  the  Major  and  Shelton  waited  for  him.  And 
the  more  they  waited  the  hungrier  and  madder 
Clark  got.  'Twas  all  Abubus's  fault,  of  course.  He 
ought  to  have  had  more  sense  than  to  run  that  way 
on  that  road,  anyhow.  He  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  to  get  into  that  sand,  a  feller  that  had 
lived  in  sand  all  his  life.  He  was  an  incompetent 
jackass.  Well,  I  knew  that  afore,  but  it  certainly 
did  me  good  to  hear  the  Major  confirm  my  judgment. 
I  went  over  and  looked  at  the  automobile.  It 
had  always  acted  like  a  mighty  lively  contraption, 
but  now  it  looked  dead  enough.  And  not  only  dead, 
but  two-thirds  buried. 

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I  GET  INTO  POLITICS 

"Well?"  fumes  Clark,  "how  much  longer  have 
we  got  to  stay  in  this  hole?  " 

"  It's  consider'ble  of  a  hole,"  says  I,  "  and  it 
looks  to  me  as  if  she'd  stay  there  till  Abubus  gets 
back  with  a  pair  of  horses.  Considerin'  how  far 
he's  got  to  tramp  and  how  long  it'll  be  afore  he  can 
get  a  pair,  I  cal'late  the  hole'll  be  occupied  until 
some  time  in  the  night." 

That  wa'n't  what  he  meant  and  I  knew  it.  Did 
I  suppose  he  and  Shelton  was  goin'  to  wait  and 
starve  until  the  middle  of  the  night?  No,  sir;  the 
auto  could  stay  where  it  was;  he  and  the  Congress 
man  would  sail  home  with  me  in  the  Glide. 

"  I  hope  you  ain't  in  any  partic'lar  hurry,"  says 
I,  lookin'  out  over  the  bay.  There  wa'n't  a  breath 
of  air  stirrin'  and  the  water  was  slick  and  shiny  as 
a  starched  shirt.  "  The  Glide  runs  by  wind  power 
and  there's  no  wind.  This  calm  may  last  one  hour 
or  it  may  last  two.  As  long  as  it  lasts  I  stay  where 
I  am."  ' 

What!  Did  I  think  they  would  stay  there  just 
because  I  was  too  lazy  to  get  my  whoopety-bang 
fish-dory  under  way?  Stay  there  in  that  sand-heap 
—  sand-heap  was  the  politest  of  the  names  he  called 
Crowell's  plantation  —  and  starve? 

"  Oh,"  says  I.  "  I  won't  starve.  I'm  goin'  to 
get  dinner." 

Dinner!  The  very  name  of  it  was  like  a  life- 
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THE  POSTMASTER 

preserver  to  a  feller  who'd  gone  under  for  the  sec 
ond  time. 

"Can  you  get  us  dinner?"  roars  the  Major. 
"  By  George,  if  you  can  I'll — " 

"  Not  for  you  I  can't,"  I  says.  "  You  live  ac- 
cordin'  to  the  Payne  schedule,  on  prunes  and  pecans 
and  such.  The  prune  crop  'round  here  is  a  failure 
and  I  don't  see  a  pecan  tree  in  Jonathan's  back  yard. 
No,  any  dinner  I'd  get  would  give  you  compound, 
gallopin'  dyspepsy,  and  I  can't  be  responsible  for 
your  death  —  I  love  you  too  much.  But  I  cal'late 
I  can  scratch  up  a  meal  that'll  keep  folks  with  com 
mon  insides  from  perishin'  of  hunger.  Anyhow, 
I'm  goin'  to  try." 


62 


CHAPTER  IV 

HOW  I  MADE  A  CLAM  CHOWDER;  AND  WHAT  A  CLAM 
CHOWDER  MADE  OF  ME 

WELL,  sir,  even  the  Major's  guns  was  spiked 
for  a  minute.     I  cal'late  that,  for  once, 
he'd    forgot  all   about  his   dietizin'    and 
only   remembered  his   appetite.     He   gurgled  and 
choked  and  glared.     Afore  he  could  get  his  artillery 
ready  for  a  broadside  I  walked  off  and  left  him. 
He'd  riled  me  up  a  little  and  I  saw  a  chance  to  rile 
him  back. 

I  went  around  to  the  back  part  of  the  Crowell 
house  and  tried  the  kitchen  door.  'Twas  locked, 
for  a  wonder,  but  the  window  side  of  it  wasn't.  I 
pushed  up  the  sash  and  reached  in  fur  enough  to 
unhook  the  door.  Then  I  went  into  the  house  and 
begun  to  overhaul  the  supplies  in  the  galley.  I 
found  *lour  and  sugar  and  salt  and  pepper  and 
coffee  and  butter  and  canned  milk  and  salt  pork  — 
about  everything  I  wanted.  Jonathan  and  I  was 
friendly  enough  so's  I  knew  he  wouldn't  care  what 
I  used  so  long  as  I  paid  for  it.  If  he  had  I'd  have 
taken  the  risk,  just  then. 

The  wood-box  was  full  and  I  got  a  fire  goin'  in 
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THE  POSTMASTER 

the  cookstove,  and  put  on  a  couple  of  kettles  of 
water  to  heat.  Then  I  went  out  to  the  shed  and 
located  a  clam  hoe  and  a  bucket.  There's  clams 
a-plenty  'most  anywheres  along  that  beach  and  the 
tide  was  out  fur  enough  for  me  to  get  a  bucket- 
full  of  small  ones  in  no  time.  I  fetched  'em  up  to 
the  house  and  set  down  on  the  back  step  to  open 


?em. 


The  Major  and  Shelton  was  watchin'  me  all  this 
time  and  they  looked  interested  —  that  is,  the  Con 
gressman  did,  and  Clark  was  dom'  his  best  not  to. 
Pretty  soon  Shelton  walks  over  and  asks  a  question. 

"  What  are  you  doin'  with  those  things,  Cap'n 
Snow?"  says  he,  referrin'  to  the  clams. 

"  Oh,"  says  I,  cheerful,  "  I'm  figgerin'  on  makin' 
a  chowder,  if  nothin'  busts." 

"  A  chowder,"  he  says,  sort  of  eager.  "  A  clam 
chowder  ?  Can  you  ?  " 

"  I  can.  That  is,  I  have  made  a  good  many  and 
I  cal'late  to  make  this  one,  unless  I'm  struck  with 
paralysis." 

"  A  clam  chowder!  "  he  says  again,  sort  of  eager 
but  reverent.  "  By  George !  that's  good  —  er  — 
for  you,  I  mean." 

"  I  hope  'twill  be  good  for  you,  too,"  says  I. 
"  I'm  sorry  that  Major  Clark's  dyspepsy's  such  that 
'twon't  be  good  for  him,  but  that's  his  misfortune, 
not  my  fault." 

64 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

Shelton  looked  sort  of  queer  and  went  away  to 
jine  his  chum.  The  two  of  'em  did  consider'ble 
talkin'  and  the  Major  appeared  to  be  deliverin'  a 
sermon,  at  least  I  heard  a  good  many  orthodox 
words  in  the  course  of  it.  I  finished  my  clam 
openin',  went  in  and  got  my  cookin'  started.  The 
flour  and  the  butter  made  me  think  that  some  hot 
spider-bread  would  go  good  with  the  chowder 
and  I  started  to  mix  a  batch.  Then  I  got  another 
idea. 

'Twas  too  late  for  huckleberries  and  such,  but  out 
back  of  the  shed,  beyond  the  pines,  was  a  little 
swampy  place.  I  took  a  tin  pail,  went  out  there  and 
filled  the  pail  with  early  wild  cranberries  in  five 
minutes.  As  I  was  cornin'  back  I  noticed  an  onion 
patch  in  the  garden.  A  chowder  without  onions  is 
like  a  camp-meetin'  Sunday  without  your  best  girl 
—  pretty  flat  and  impersonal.  Most  of  those  left 
in  the  patch  had  gone  to  seed,  but  I  got  a  half 
dozen. 

After  a  short  spell  that  kitchen  begun  to  get 
fragrant  and  folksy,  as  you  might  say.  The  coffee 
was  b'ilin',  the  chowder  was  about  ready,  there  was 
a  pan  of  red-hot  spider-bread  on  the  back  of  the 
stove  and  a  cranberry  shortcake  — 'twould  have 
been  better  with  cream,  but  to  skim  condensed  milk 
is  more  exercise  than  profit  —  in  the  oven.  I'd 
opened  all  the  windows  and  the  door,  so  the  smell 

65 


THE  POSTMASTER 

drifted  out  and  livened  up  the  surroundin'  scenery. 
Clark  and  Shelton  were  settin'  on  a  sand  hummock 
a  little  ways  off  and  I  could  see  'em  wrinklin'  their 
noses. 

When  the  table  was  set  and  everything  was  ready 
I  put  my  head  out  of  the  window  and  hollered: 

"  Dinner !  "  I  sung  out. 

There  wa'n't  any  answer.  The  pair  on  the  hum 
mock  stirred  and  acted  uneasy,  but  they  didn't  move. 
I  ladled  out  some  of  the  chowder  and  the  perfume 
of  it  got  more  pervadin'  and  extensive.  Then  I 
rattled  the  dishes  and  tried  again. 

"Dinner!"  I  hollered.  "Come  on;  chowder's 
gettin'  cold." 

Still  they  didn't  move  and  I  begun  to  think  my 
fun  had  been  all  for  myself.  I  was  disappointed, 
but  I  set  down  to  the  table  and  commenced  to  eat. 
Then  I  heard  a  noise.  The  pair  of  'em  had  drifted 
over  to  the  doorway  and  was  lookin'  in. 

"  Hello!  "  says  I,  blowin'  a  spoonful  of  chowder 
to  cool  it.  "  Am  I  givin'  a  good  imitation  of  a 
hungry  man?  If  I  ain't,  appearances  are  deceit 
ful." 

"  Hog!  "  snarls  Clark,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  I.  "  There's  plenty  of  every 
thing  and  Mr.  Shelton's  welcome.  So  would  you 
be,  Major,  if  there  was  anything  aboard  you  could 
eat.  I'm  awful  sorry  about  them  prunes  and  nut- 

66 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

meats.  I  only  wish  Crowell  had  laid  in  a  supply  — 
I  do  so." 

The  Major's  mouth  was  waterin*  so  he  had  to 
swallow  afore  he  could  answer.  When  he  did  I 
realized  what  he  was  at  his  best.  Shelton  didn't 
say  a  word,  but  the  looks  of  him  was  enough. 

"  My,  my!  "  says  I,  "  I'm  glad  I  made  a  whole 
kettleful  of  this  stuff;  I  can  use  a  grown  man's  share 
of  it." 

Shelton  looked  at  Clark  and  Clark  looked  at  him. 
Then  the  Major  yelps  at  him  like  a  sore  pup. 

"Go  ahead!"  he  shouts.  "Go  ahead  in! 
Don't  stand  starin'  at  me  like  a  cannibal.  Go  in 
and  eat,  why  don't  you  ?  " 

You  could  see  the  Congressman  was  divided  in 
his  feelin's.  He  wanted  dinner  worse  than  the  Old 
Harry  wanted  the  backslidin'  deacon,  but  he  hated 
to  desert  his  friend. 

"  You're  sure  — "  he  stammered.  "  It  seems 
mean  to  leave  you,  but  .  .  .  Sure  you  wouldn't 
mind?  If  it  wasn't  that  you  are  on  a  diet  and  can't 
eat  I  shouldn't  think  of  it,  but  — " 

"  Shut  up !  "  The  Major  fairly  whooped  it  to 
Jericho.  "  If  you  talk  diet  to  me  again  I'll  kill 
you.  Go  in  and  eat.  Eat,  you  idiot!  I'd  just  as 
soon  watch  two  pigs  as  one.  Go  in !  " 

So  Shelton  came  in  and  I  had  a  plate  of  chowder 
waitin'  for  him.  He  grabbed  up  his  spoon  and 

67 


THE  POSTMASTER 

didn't  speak  until  he'd  finished  the  whole  of  it. 
Then  he  fetched  a  long  breath,  passed  the  plate  for 
more,  and  says  he: 

"  By  George,  Cap'n,  that  is  the  best  stuff  I  ever 
tasted.  You're  a  wonderful  cook." 

"  Much  obliged,"  says  I.  "  But  you  ain't  com 
petent  to  judge  until  after  the  third  helpin'.  And 
now  you  try  a  slab  of  that  spider-bread  and  a  cup 
of  coffee.  And  don't  forget  to  leave  room  for  the 
shortcake  because  .  .  .  Well,  I  swan  to  man! 
Why,  Major  Clark,  are  you  crazy?  " 

For,  as  sure  as  I'm  settin'  here,  old  Clark  had 
come  bustin'  into  that  kitchen,  yanked  a  chair  up  to 
that  table,  grabbed  a  plate  and  the  ladle  and  was 
helpin'  himself  to  chowder. 

"  Major!  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  Cobden!  "  says  Shelton. 

"  Shut  up !  "  roars  the  Major.  "  If  either  of  you 
say  a  word  I  won't  be  responsible  for  the  conse 
quences." 

We  didn't  say  anything  and  neither  did  he. 
Judgin'  by  the  silence  'twas  a  mighty  solemn  occa 
sion.  Everybody  ate  chowder  and  just  thought,  I 
guess. 

"  Pass  me  that  bread,"  snaps  Clark. 

"  But  Cobden,"  says  Shelton  again. 

"  It's  hot,"  says  I,  "  and  it's  fried,  and  — " 

"  Give  it  to  me!  If  you  don't  I  shall  know  it's 
68 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

because  you're  too  rip-slap  stingy  to  part  with  it." 

After  that,  there  was  nothin'  to  be  done  but  the 
one  thing.  He  got  the  bread  and  he  ate  it  —  not 
one  slice,  but  two.  And  he  drank  coffee  and  ate  a 
three-inch  slab  of  shortcake.  When  the  meal  was 
over  there  wa'n't  enough  left  to  feed  a  healthy 
canary. 

"  Now,"  growls  the  Major,  turnin'  to  Shelton, 
"have  you  a  cigar  in  your  pocket?  If  you  have, 
hand  it  over." 

The  Congressman  fairly  gasped.  "  A  cigar !  "  he 
sings  out.  "You  —  goin'  to  smoke?  You?" 

"Yes  —  me.  I'm  goin'  to  die  anyway.  This 
murderer  here,"  p'intin'  to  me,  "  laid  his  plans  to 
kill  me  and  he's  succeeded.  But  I'll  die  happy. 
Give  me  that  cigar!  If  you  had  a  drink  about  you 
I'd  take  that." 

He  bit  the  end  off  his  cigar,  lit  it,  and  slammed 
out  of  that  kitchen,  puffin'  like  a  soft-coal  tug.  Shel 
ton  shook  his  head  at  me  and  I  shook  mine  back. 

"  Do  you  s'pose  he  will  die?  "  he  asked.  "  He's 
eaten  enough  to  kill  anybody.  And  with  his  stom 
ach  !  And  to  smoke  1 " 

"  The  dear  land  knows,"  says  I.  To  tell  you 
the  truth  I  was  a  little  conscience-struck  and  wor 
ried.  My  idea  had  been  to  play  a  joke  on  Clark  — 
tantalize  him  by  eatin'  a  square  meal  that  he  couldn't 
touch  —  and  get  even  for  some  of  the  names  he'd 

69 


THE  POSTMASTER 

called  me.  But  now  I  wa'n't  sure  that  my  fun 
wouldn't  turn  out  serious.  When  a  man  with  a  lame 
digestion  eats  enough  to  satisfy  an  elephant  no 
body  can  be  sure  what'll  come  of  it. 

The  Congressman  and  I  washed  the  dishes  and 
'twas  a  pretty  average  sorrowful  job.  Only  once, 
when  I  happened  to  glance  at  him  and  caught  a 
queer  look  in  his  eyes,  was  the  ceremony  any  more 
joyful  than  a  funeral.  Then  the  funny  side  of  it 
struck  me  and  I  commenced  to  laugh.  He  joined 
in  and  the  pair  of  us  haw-hawed  like  loons.  Then 
we  was  sorry  for  it. 

Shelton  went  out  when  the  dish-washin'  was  over. 
I  cleaned  up  everything,  left  a  note  and  some  money 
on  Jonathan's  table  and  locked  up  the  house. 
When  I  got  outside  there  was  a  fair  to  middlin' 
breeze  springin'  up.  Shelton  was  settin'  on  the  hum 
mock  waitin'  for  me. 

"Where  —  where's  the  Major?"  I  asked,  pretty 
fearful. 

"He's  over  there  in  the  shade  —  asleep,"  he 
whispered. 

"  Asleep  !  "  says  I.     "  Sure  he  ain't  dead  ?  " 

"  Listen,"  says  he. 

I  listened.  If  the  Major  was  dead  he  was  a 
mighty  noisy  remains. 

He  woke  up,  after  an  hour  or  so,  and  come 
trampin'  over  to  where  we  was. 

70 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

"  Well,"  he  snaps,  "  it's  blowin'  hard  enough  now, 
ain't  it?  Why  don't  you  take  us  home?" 

"  How  about  the  auto?  "  I  asked. 

The  auto  could  stay  where  it  was  until  the  horses 
came  to  pull  it  out.  As  for  him  he  wanted  to  be 
took  home. 

"But  —  but  are  you  able  to  go?"  asked  Shel- 
ton,  anxious. 

What  in  the  sulphur  blazes  did  we  mean  by  that? 
Course  he  was  able  to  go !  And  had  Shelton  got 
another  cigar  in  his  clothes? 

All  of  the  sail  home  I  was  expectin'  to  see  that 
military  man  keel  over  and  begin  his  digestion  tor 
ments.  But  he  didn't  keel.  He  smoked  and 
talked  and  was  better-natured  than  ever  I'd  seen 
him.  He  didn't  mention  his  stomach  once  and  you 
can  be  sure  and  sartin  that  I  didn't.  As  we  was 
comin'  up  to  the  moorin's  in  Ostable  I'm  blessed  if 
he  didn't  begin  to  sing,  a  kind  of  a  fool  tune  about 
"  Down  where  the  somethin'-or-other  runs." 
Then  I  was  scared,  because  I  judged  that  his  attack 
had  started  and  delirium  was  settin'  in. 

Shelton  shook  hands  with  me  at  the  landin'. 

"  You're  all  right,  Cap'n  Snow,"  he  says.  "  That 
was  the  best  meal  I  ever  tasted  and  nobody  but  you 
could  have  conjured  it  up  in  the  middle  of  a  howlin' 
wilderness.  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  you 
at  any  time  just  let  me  know." 


THE  POSTMASTER 

There  was  one  thing  he  could  do,  of  course,  but 
I  wouldn't  be  mean  enough  to  mention  it  then.  The 
Major  and  I  had,  generally  speaking  fought  fair, 
and  I  wouldn't  take  advantage  of  a  delirious  in 
valid.  And  just  then  up  comes  the  invalid  himself. 

"See  here,  Snow,"  says  he,  pretty  gruff;  "I'll 
probably  be  dead  afore  mornin',  but  afore  I  die  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for 
bringin'  us  home.  Yes,  and  —  and,  by  the  great 
and  mighty,  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  that  chowder 
and  the  rest  of  it!  It'll  be  my  death,  but  nothin' 
ever  tasted  so  good  to  me  afore.  There !  " 

"  That's  all  right,"  says  I. 

"  No,  it  ain't  all  right.  I'm  much  obliged,  I  tell 
you.  You're  a  stubborn,  obstinate,  unreasonable 
old  hayseed,  but  you're  the  most  competent  person 
in  this  town  just  the  same.  Of  course  though,"  he 
adds,  sharp,  "  you  understand  that  this  don't  affect 
our  post-office  fight  in  the  least.  That  Blaisdell 
woman  don't  get  it." 

"Who  said  it  did  affect  it?"  I  asked,  just  as 
snappy  as  he  was.  That's  the  way  we  parted  and 
I  wondered  if  I'd  ever  see  him  alive  again. 

I  didn't  see  him  for  quite  a  spell,  but  I  heard 
about  him.  I  woke  up  nights  expectin'  to  be  jailed 
for  murder,  but  I  wa'n't;  and  when,  three  days 
later,  Shelton  started  for  Washin'ton,  the  Major 
went  away  on  the  train  with  him.  Abubus  and  his 

72 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

wife  shut  up  the  house  and  went  off,  too,  and  nobody 
seemed  to  know  where  they'd  gone.  All's  could  be 
found  out  was  that  Abubus  acted  pretty  ugly  and 
wouldn't  talk  to  anybody.  This  was  comfortin'  in 
a  way,  though,  most  likely,  it  didn't  mean  anything 
at  all. 

But  at  the  end  of  two  weeks  a  thing  happened 
that  meant  somethin'.  I  got  two  letters  in  the  mail, 
one  in  a  big,  long  envelope  postmarked  from  the 
Post-Office  Department  at  Washington  and  the 
other  a  letter  from  Shelton  himself.  I  don't  sup 
pose  I'll  ever  forget  that  letter  to  my  dyin'  day. 

"  Dear  Captain  Snow,"  it  begun.  "  You  may  be 
interested  to  know  that  our  mutual  friend,  Major 
Clark,  has  suffered  no  ill  effects  from  our  picnic  at 
the  beach.  In  fact,  he  is  better  than  he  ever  was 
and  has  been  enjoying  the  comforts  of  city  life 
to  an  extent  which  I  should  not  dare  attempt. 
Whether  his  long  respite  from  such  comforts 
helped,  or  whether  the  celebrated  Doctor  Conquest 
was  responsible,  I  know  not.  The  Major,  however, 
declares  Doctor  Payne  to  be  a  fraud  and  to  have 
been,  as  he  says,  '  working  him  for  a  sucker.' 
Therefore  he  has  discharged  the  doctor  and  dis 
charged  the  cousin  with  the  odd  name  —  your  fel 
low  townsman,  Abubus  Payne.  The  mishap  with 
the  auto  was  the  beginning  of  Abubus's  finish  and  the 
fact  that  no  indigestion  followed  our  chowder  party 
completed  it.  And  also  —  which  may  interest  you 
still  more  —  Major  Clark  has  withdrawn  his  sup- 

73 


THE  POSTMASTER 

port  of  Payne's  candidacy  for  the  post-office  and 
urged  the  appointment  of  another  person,  one  whom 
he  declares  to  be  the  only  able,  common-sense,  hon 
est  man  in  the  village.  As  I  have  long  felt  the 
appointment  of  a  compromise  candidate  to  be  the 
sole  solution  of  the  problem,  I  was  very  happy  to 
agree  with  him,  particularly  as  I  thoroughly  approve 
of  his  choice.  When  you  learn  the  new  postmas 
ter's  name  I  trust  you  may  agree  with  us  both.  I 
know  the  citizens  of  Ostable  will  do  so. 
'  Yours  sincerely, 

"  WILLIAM  A.  SHELTON. 

"  P.  S.  I  am  coming  down  next  summer  and  shall 
expect  another  one  of  your  chowders." 

My  hands  shook  as  I  ripped  open  the  other  en 
velope.  I  knew  what  was  comin' —  somethin'  in 
side  me  warned  me  what  to  expect.  And  there  it 
was.  Me  —  me  —  Zebulon  Snow,  was  app'inted 
postmaster  of  Ostable ! 

Was  I  mad?  I  was  crazy!  I  fairly  hopped  up 
and  down.  What  in  thunder  did  I  want  of  the 
postmastership  ?  And  if  I  wanted  it  ever  so  much 
did  they  think  I  was  a  traitor?  Was  it  likely  that 
I'd  take  it,  after  workin'  tooth  and  nail  for  Mary 
Blaisdell?  What  would  Mary  say  to  me?  By 
time,  I'd  show  'em!  It  should  go  back  that  min 
ute  and  my  free  and  frank  opinion  with  it.  I'd 
kicked  one  chair  to  pieces  already,  and  was  beginnin' 

74 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

on  another,  when  Jim  Henry  Jacobs  come  runnin' 
in  and  stopped  me. 

No  use  to  goin'  into  particulars  of  the  argu 
ment  we  had.  It  lasted  till  after  one  o'clock  next 
mornin'.  Jim  Henry  argued  and  coaxed  and  proved 
and  I  ripped  and  vowed  I  wouldn't.  He  was 
tickled  to  death.  The  post-office  was  the  greatest 
thing  to  bring  trade  that  the  store  could  have,  and 
so  on.  I  must  take  the  job.  If  I  didn't  somebody 
else  would,  somebody  that,  more'n  likely,  we 
wouldn't  like  any  better  than  we  did  Abubus. 

"No,"  says  I.  "Not  Mary  Blaisdell  shall 
have  — " 

"  She  won't  get  it  anyway,"  says  he.  "  She's  out 
of  it  —  Shelton  as  much  as  says  so  — whatever  hap 
pens.  And  she  don't  want  the  title  anyway.  All 
she  needs  or  cares  for  is  the  pay  and  I've  thought  of 
a  way  to  fix  that.  You  listen." 

I  listened  —  under  protest,  and  the  upshot  of  it 
was  that  the  next  day  I  went  up  to  see  Mary.  She'd 
heard  that  I  was  likely  to  get  the  appointment  — 
old  Clark  had  been  doin'  some  hintin'  afore  he  left 
town,  I  cal'late  —  and  she  congratulated  me  as 
hearty  as  if  'twas  what  she'd  wanted  all  along.  But 
I  wa'n't  huntin'  congratulations.  I  felt  as  mean  as 
if  I'd  been  took  up  by  the  constable  for  bein'  a 
chicken  thief,  and  I  told  her  so. 

"  Mary,"  says  I,  "  I  wa'n't  after  the  postmaster- 
75 


THE  POSTMASTER 

ship.  I  swear  by  all  that  is  good  and  great  I  wa'n't. 
I  don't  know  what  you  must  think  of  me." 

"  What  I've  always  thought,"  says  she,  "  and 
what  "»oor  Henry  thought  before  he  died.  My 
opinion  is  like  Major  Clark's,"  with  a  kind  of  half 
smile,  "  that  the  appointment  has  gone  to  the  best 
man  in  Ostable." 

"  My,  my !  "  says  I.  "  Your  digestion  ain't  given 
you  delirium,  has  it?  No  sir-ee!  I'm  no  more  fit 
to  be  postmaster  than  a  ship's  goat  is  to  teach 
school." 

"  You  mustn't  talk  so,"  she  says,  earnest.  '  You 
will  take  the  position,  won't  you?" 

"  I'll  take  it,"  says  I,  "  under  one  condition." 
Then  I  told  her  what  the  condition  was.  She  ar 
gued  against  it  at  fust,  but  after  I'd  said  flat-footed 
that  'twas  either  that  or  the  government  could  take 
its  appointment  and  make  paper  boats  of  it,  and 
she'd  seen  that  I  meant  it,  she  give  in. 

"  But,"  says  she,  chokin'  up  a  little,  "  I  know 
you're  doin'  this  just  to  help  me.  How  I  can  ever 
repay  your  kindness  I  don't  — " 

I  cut  in  quick.  My  deadlights  was  more  misty 
than  I  like  to  have  'em.  "  Rubbish ! "  says  I, 
"  I'm  doin'  it  to  win  my  bet  with  old  Clark.  I'd  do 
anything  to  beat  out  that  old  critter." 

So  it  happened  that  when,  along  in  November, 
the  Major  came  back  to  Ostable  to  look  over  his 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

place,  afore  leavin'  for  Florida,  and  come  into  the 
store,  I  was  ready  for  him.  He  grinned  and  asked 
me  if  he  had  any  mail. 

"  While  you're  about  it,"  he  says,  chucklin',  "  you 
can  pay  me  that  bet." 

Now  the  very  sound  of  the  word  "  bet  "  hit  me  on 
a  sore  place.  I'd  lost  one  hat  to  Mr.  Pike  and  the 
letter  I'd  got  from  him  rubbed  me  across  the  grain 
every  time  I  thought  of  it. 

"What  bet?  "says  I. 

"  Why,  the  bet  you  made  that  the  Blaisdell 
woman  would  be  postmistress  here." 

"  I  didn't  bet  that,"  I  says. 

"You  didn't?"  he  roared.  "You  did,  too! 
You  bet—" 

"  I  bet  that  Mary  would  handle  the  mail,  that's 
all.  So  she  will;  fact  is,  she's  handlin'  it  now. 
She's  my  assistant  in  the  post-office  here.  If  you 
don't  believe  it,  go  back  to  the  mail  window  and 
look  in.  No,  Major,  /  win  the  bet." 

Maybe  I  did,  but  he  wouldn't  pay  it.  He 
vowed  I  was  a  low  down  swindler  and  a  "  welsher," 
whatever  that  is.  He  blew  out  of  that  store  like 
a  toy  typhoon  and  I  didn't  see  him  again  until  the 
next  summer.  However,  I  had  a  feelin'  that  Ma 
jor  Cobden  Clark  wa'n't  the  wust  friend  I  had,  by 
a  consider'ble  sight. 

You  see,  that  was  Jim  Henry's  great  scheme  — 
77 


THE  POSTMASTER 

to  hire  Mary  to  run  the  office  as  my  assistant.  He 
didn't  say  what  salary  I  was  to  pay  her,  and,  if  I 
chose  to  hand  over  three-quarters  of  the  postmas 
ter's  pay  to  her,  what  business  was  it  of  his  ?  I  told 
him  that  plain,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  didn't  seem 
to  care. 

But  he  did  rub  it  in  about  my  declarin'  I'd  never 
go  into  politics. 

In  a  little  while  the  mail  department  was  as  much 
a  part  of  the  "  Ostable  Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots 
and  Shoes  and  Fancy  Goods  Store  "  as  the  calico 
and  dress  goods  counter.  We  bought  the  Blaisdell 
letter-box  rack  and  fixin's  and  set  'em  up  and  they 
done  fust-rate  for  the  time  bein'.  I  was  postmaster, 
so  fur  as  name  goes,  but  'twas  Mary  that  really  run 
that  end  of  the  ship.  It  seemed  as  natural  to  have 
her  come  in  mornin's,  as  it  did  for  the  sun  to  rise; 
and,  if  she  was  late,  which  didn't  happen  often,  it 
seemed  almost  as  if  the  sun  hadn't  rose.  The  old 
store  needed  somethin'  like  her  to  keep  it  clean  and 
sweet  and  even  Jim  Henry  give  in  that  she  was  the 
best  investment  the  business  had  made  yet. 

As  for  business  it  kept  on  good,  even  though  the 
summer  folks  had  gone  and  winter  had  set  in.  Our 
order  carts  kept  runnin'  and  they  took  orders,  too. 
The  store  was  doin'  well  by  us  both  and  I  certainly 
owed  old  Pullet  a  debt  of  thanks  for  workin'  on 
my  sympathies  until  I  put  my  cash  into  it.  There 

78 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

was  consider'ble  buildin'  goin'  on  in  town  and,, 
when  spring  begun  to  show  symptoms  of  makin' 
Ostable  harbor,  Jim  Henry  got  possessed  of  a  new 
idea.  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  at  fust.  He 
was  always  as  full  of  notions  as  a  peddler's  cart 
and  if  I  took  every  one  of  'em  serious  we'd  either 
been  Rockefellers  or  star  boarders  at  the  poorhouse, 
one  or  t'other.  'Twa'n't  till  that  day  in  April  when 
old  Ebenezer  Taylor  came  in  after  his  mail  and 
went  out  after  the  constable  that  I  realized  some- 
thin'  had  to  be  done. 

You  see,  Ebenezer's  eyes  was  failin'  on  him  and, 
to  make  things  worse,  he'd  forgot  his  nigh-to  specs 
and  had  on  his  far-off  pair.  Consequently,  when  he 
headed  for  the  after  end  of  the  store,  he  wa'n't  in 
no  condition  to  keep  clear  of  the  rocks  and  shoals 
in  the  channel.  Fust  thing  he  run  into  was  a  couple 
of  dress-forms  with  some  bargain  calico  gowns  on 
'em.  While  he  was  beggin'  pardon  of  them  forms, 
under  the  impression  that  they  wras  women  custom 
ers,  he  backed  into  a  roll  of  barbed  wire  fencin' 
that  was  leanin'  against  the  candy  and  cigar  counter. 
His  clothes  was  sort  of  thin  and  if  that  barbed  wire 
had  been  somebody  tryin'  to  borrer  a  quarter  of 
him  he  couldn't  have  jumped  higher  or  been  more 
emphatic  in  his  remarks.  The  third  jump  landed 
him  against  the  gunwale  of  a  bushel  basket  of  eggs 
that  Jacobs  was  makin'  a  special  run  on  and  had 

79 


THE  POSTMASTER 

set  out  prominent  in  the  aisle.  Maybe  Ebenezer 
was  tired  from  the  jumpin'  or  maybe  the  excitement 
had  gone  to  his  head  and  he  thought  he  was  a  hen. 
Anyhow  he  set  on  them  eggs,  and  in  two  shakes  of 
a  heifer's  tail  he  was  the  messiest  lookin'  omelet 
ever  I  see.  Jacobs  and  me  and  the  clerk  scraped 
him  off  best  we  could  with  pieces  of  barrel  hoop 
and  the  cheese  knife,  and  Mary  come  out  from  be 
hind  the  letter  boxes  and  helped  along  with  the 
floor  mop,  but  when  we'd  finished  with  him  he  was 
consider'ble  more  like  somethin'  for  breakfast  than 
he  was  human. 

And  mad!  An  April  fool  chocolate  cream 
couldn't  have  been  more  peppery  than  he  was.  He 
distributed  his  commentaries  around  pretty  general 
—  Mary  got  some  and  so  did  Jacobs  —  but  the  heft 
was  fired  at  me.  He  hated  me  anyhow,  'count  of 
my  bein'  made  postmaster  and  for  some  other  rea 
sons. 

"You  —  you  thunderin'  murderer!"  he  hol 
lered,  shakin'  his  old  fist  in  my  face.  "  'Twas  all 
your  fault.  You  done  it  a-purpose.  Look  at  me ! 
Look!  my  legs  punched  full  of  holes  like  a  skim 
mer,  and  —  and  my  clothes !  Just  look  at  my 
clothes!  A  whole  suit  ruined!  A  suit  I  paid  ten 
dollars  and  a  half  for — " 

'  Ten  year  and  a  half  ago,"  I  put  in,  involun 
tary,  as  you  might  say. 

80 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

"  It's  a  lie.  'Twon't  be  nine  year  till  next 
September.  You  think  you're  funny,  don't  you? 
Ever  since  this  consarned,  robbin'  Black  Republican 
administration  made  you  postmaster!  Postmaster! 
You're  a  healthy  postmaster!  I'll  have  you  ar 
rested!  I'll  march  straight  out  and  have  you  took 
up.  I  will!" 

He  headed  for  the  door.  I  didn't  say  nothin'. 
I  was  sorry  about  the  clothes  and  I'd  have  paid  for 
'em  willin'ly,  but  arguin'  just  then  was  a  waste  of 
time,  as  the  feller  said  when  the  deef  and  dumb 
man  caught  him  stealin'  apples.  Ebenezer  stamped 
as  fur  as  the  door  and  then  turned  around. 

"I  may  not  have  you  took  up,"  he  says;  "but 
I'll  get  even  with  you,  Zeb  Snow,  yet.  You  wait." 

After  he'd  gone  and  we'd  made  the  place  look 
a  little  less  like  an  egg-nog,  I  took  Jim  Henry  by 
the  sleeve  and  led  him  into  the  back  room  where 
we  could  be  alone.  Even  there  the  surroundin's 
was  so  cluttered  up  with  goods  and  bales  and  boxes 
that  we  had  to  stand  edgeways  and  talk  out  of  the 
sides  of  our  mouths. 

"  Jim,"  says  I,  "  this  place  of  ours  ain't  big 
enough.  We've  got  to  have  more  room." 

He  pretended  to  be  dreadful  surprised. 

;'  Why,  why,  Skipper !  "  he  says.  "  You  shock 
me.  This  is  so  sudden.  What  put  such  an  idea  as 
that  in  your  head?  Seems  to  me  I  have  a  vague 

81 


THE  POSTMASTER 

remembrance  of  handin'  you  that  suggestion  no  less 
than  twenty-five  times  since  the  last  change  of  the 
moon,  but  I  hope  that  didn't  influence  you." 

"  Aw,  dry  up,"  says  I.  '  You  was  right.  Let  it 
go  at  that.  Afore  I  got  the  postmastership  this 
buildin'  was  big  enough.  Now  it  ain't.  We've  got 
to  build  on  or  move  or  somethln'.  Have  you  got 
any  definite  plan?  " 

He  smiled,  superior  and  top-lofty,  and  reached 
over  to  pat  me  on  the  back;  but  reachin'  in  that 
crowded  junk-shop  was  bad  judgment,  'cause  his 
elbow  hit  against  the  corner  of  a  tea  chest  and  his 
next  set  of  remarks  was  as  explosive  and  fiery  as  a 
box  of  ship  rockets. 

"  Never  mind  the  blessin',"  I  says.  "  Go  ahead 
with  the  fust  course.  Have  you  got  anything  up 
your  sleeve?  anything  besides  that  bump,  I  mean." 

Well,  it  seems  he  had.  Seems  he'd  thought  it 
all  out.  We'd  ought  to  buy  Philander  Foster's 
buildin',  which  was  on  the  next  lot  to  ours,  move  it 
close  up,  cut  doors  through,  and  use  it  for  the  post- 
office  department. 

"Humph!"  says  I,  after  I'd  turned  the  notion 
over  in  my  mind.  "  That  ain't  so  bad,  considerin' 
where  it  come  from.  I  can  only  sight  one  possible 
objection  in  the  offin'." 

"What's  that,  you  confounded  Jezebel?"  he 
says. 

82 


A  CLAM  CHOWDER 

"  Jezebel?  "  says  I.  "  What  on  airth  do  you  call 
me  that  for?  " 

"  'Cause  you're  him  all  over,"  he  says.  "  He 
was  the  feller  I  used  to  hear  about  in  Sunday  School, 
the  prophet  chap  that  was  always  croakin'  and  be 
lieved  everything  was  goin'  to  the  dogs.  That  was 
Jezebel,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  No,"  says  I,  "that  was  Jeremiah;  Jezebel  was 
the  one  the  dogs  went  to.  And  she  was  a  woman, 
at  that." 

'  Well,  all  right,"  he  says.  "  Whatever  he  or 
she  was  they  didn't  have  anything  on  you  when  it 
comes  to  croaks.  What's  the  objection?  " 

"  Nothin'  much.  Only  I  don't  know's  you've 
happened  to  think  that  Philander  might  not  care  to 
sell  his  buildin',  to  us  or  to  anybody  else." 

That  was  all  right.  We  could  go  and  see, 
couldn't  we?  Well,  we  could  of  course  —  and  we 
did. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  TRAP  AND  WHAT  THE  "  RAT  "  CAUGHT  IN  IT 

FOSTER  run  a  shebang  that  was  labeled 
"The  Palace  Billiard,  Pool  and  Sipio  Par- 
lors.  Cigars  and  Tobacco.  Tonics,  all 
Flavors.  Ice  Cream  in  Season."  The  "  Palace  " 
part  was  some  exaggeration  and  so  was  the  "  Par 
lors,"  but  the  place  was  the  favorite  hang-out  of 
all  the  loafers  and  young  sports  in  town  and  the 
church  folks  was  turrible  down  on  it,  callin'  it  a 
"  gilded  hell "  and  such  pious  profanity.  The  gilt 
had  wore  off  years  afore  and  if  the  hot  place  ain't 
more  interestin'  than  that  billiard  saloon  it  must  be 
dull  for  some  of  the  permanent  boarders. 

We  found  Philander  asleep  back  of  the  soft 
drink  counter  and  young  Erastus  Taylor — "  Ratty," 
everybody  called  him  —  practicin'  pin  pool,  as 
usual,  at  one  of  the  tables.  "  Ratty "  was  Ebe- 
nezer  Taylor's  only  son  and  the  combination  trial 
and  idol  of  the  old  man's  soul.  Ebenezer  thought 
most  as  much  of  him  as  he  did  of  his  money,  and  when 
you've  said  that  you  couldn't  make  it  any  stronger. 
He'd  done  a  heap  to  make  a  man  of  "  Rat  " —  his 

84 


A  TRAP 

idea  of  a  man  —  even  separatin'  from  enough  cash 
to  send  him  to  a  business  college  up  to  Middleboro ; 
but  all  the  boy  got  from  that  college  was  a  thunder 
and  lightnin'  taste  in  clothes  and  a  post-graduate 
course  in  pool  playin'.  Pool  playin'  was  the  only 
thing  he  cared  about  and  he  could  spot  any  one  of 
the  Ostable  sharps  four  balls  and  beat  'em  hands 
down.  He'd  sampled  two  or  three  jobs  up  to  Bos 
ton,  but  they  always  undermined  his  health  and  he 
drifted  back  home  to  live  on  dad  and  look  for  an 
other  "  openln'."  I  cal'late  the  pair  lived  a  cat  and 
dog  life,  for  Ratty  always  wanted  money  to  spend 
and  Ebenezer  wanted  it  to  keep.  The  old  man 
was  the  wust  down  on  the  billiard  room  of  anybody 
and  his  son  put  in  most  of  his  time  there. 

Me  and  Jim  Henry  woke  up  Philander  and  told 
him  we  wanted  to  talk  with  him  private.  He  said 
go  ahead  and  talk;  there  wa'n't  anybody  to  hear 
but  Ratty,  and  Rat  was  just  like  one  of  the  family. 
So,  as  we  couldn't  do  it  any  different,  we  went 
ahead.  Jacobs  explained  that  we  felt  that  maybe 
we  might  some  time  or  other  need  a  little  extry 
room  for  our  business  and,  bein'  as  he  —  Philander 
—  was  handy  by  and  we  was  always  prejudiced  in 
favor  of  a  neighbor  and  so  on,  perhaps  he'd  consider 
sellin'  us  his  buildin'  and  lot.  Course  it  didn't  make 
so  much  difference  to  him;  he  could  easy  move  his 
"  Parlors  "  somewheres  else  —  and  similar  sweet 

85 


THE  POSTMASTER 

ile.     Philander  listened  till  Jim  Henry  had  poured 
on  the  last  soothin'  drop,  and  then  he  laughed. 

"  Um  .  .  .  ya-as,"  he  says.  "  I  could 
move  a  heap,  /  could!  I'm  so  durned  popular 
amongst  the  good  landholders  in  this  town  that  any 
one  of  'em  would  turn  their  best  settin'-rooms  over 
to  me  the  minute  I  mentioned  it.  Yes,  indeed! 
Just  where  'bouts  would  I  move?  —  if  'tain't  too 
much  to  ask." 

Well,  that  was  some  of  a  sticker,  'cause  / 
couldn't  think  of  anybody  that  would  have  that 
billiard  room  within  a  thousand  fathoms  of  their 
premises,  if  they  could  help  it.  But  Jim  Henry  he 
pretended  not  to  be  shook  up  a  cent's  wuth.  That 
was  easy;  'twas  just  a  matter  of  Philander's 
pickin'  out  the  right  place,  that  was  all  there  was 
to  it. 

Philander  heard  him  through  and  then  he 
laughed  again. 

"  You're  wastin'  good  business  breath,"  he  says. 
"  I  wouldn't  sell  if  I  could,  unless  I  had  a  fust- 
class  place  to  move  into,  and  there  ain't  no  such 
place  on  the  main  road  and  you  know  it.  I'm  doin' 
trade  enough  to  keep  me  alive  and  I'm  satisfied, 
though  I  can't  lay  up  a  cent.  But,  so  fur  as  movin' 
out  is  concerned,  I  expect  to  do  that  on  the  fust  of 
next  November.  I'll  be  fired  out,  I  judge,  and 
prob'ly'll  have  to  leave  town.  Hey,  Rat?  " 

86 


A  TRAP 

Ratty  Taylor,  who'd  been  listenin',  twisted  his 
mouth  and  grunted. 

"  Yes,"  he  says,  "  I  guess  that's  right,  worse 
luck!" 

"You  bet  it's  right!"  says  Philander.  "As  I 
said,  Mr.  Jacobs,  if  I  could  sell  out  to  you  and 
Cap'n  Zeb  I  wouldn't,  without  a  good  handy  place 
to  move  into.  And  I  can't  sell  any  way.  There's 
a  thousand  dollar  mortgage  on  this  shop  and  lot; 
it's  due  June  fust;  and,  unless  I  pay  it  off  —  which 
I  can't,  havin'  not  more'n  five  hundred  to  my  name 
—  the  mortgage'll  be  foreclosed  and  out  I  go." 

This  was  news  all  right.  Then  me  and  Jim 
Henry  asked  the  same  question,  both  speakin'  to 
gether. 

;' Who  owns  the  mortgage?"  we  asked. 

Foster  looked  at  Ratty  and  grinned.  Rat  grinned 
back,  sort  of  sickly. 

"  Shall  I  tell  'em?  "  says  Philander. 

"  I  don't  care,"  says  Ratty.  "  Tell  'em,  if  you 
want  to." 

"  Well,"  says  Foster,  "  old  Ebenezer  Taylor, 
Ratty's  dad,  owns  it,  drat  him !  and  he's  tryin'  to 
drive  me  out  of  town  'count  of  Rat's  spendin'  so 
much  time  in  here.  Ratty's  a  fine  feller,  but  his 
pa's  the  meanest  old  skinflint  that  ever  drawed  the 
breath  of  life.  Not  meanin'  no  reflections  on  your 
family,  Rat  —  but  ain't  it  so?  " 

8? 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"/  shan't  contradict  you,  Phi,"  says  Ratty. 

Jacobs  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  Then  I  got 
up  from  my  chair. 

"  Jim  Henry,"  says  I,  "  I  don't  see  as  we've  got 
much  to  gain  by  stayin'  here.  Let's  go  home." 

We  went  back  to  the  store,  neither  of  us  speakin', 
but  both  thinkin'  hard.  It  was  all  off  now,  of  course. 
If  old  Taylor  owned  that  mortgage,  he'd  foreclose 
on  the  nail,  if  only  to  get  rid  of  his  son's  loafin'  place. 
And  he  wouldn't  sell  to  us  —  hatin'  us  as  he  did  — 
unless  we  covered  the  place  with  cash  an  inch  deep. 
No,  buyin'  the  "  Palace  "  was  a  dead  proposition. 
And  there  wa'n't  another  available  buildin'  or  lot  big 
enough  for  us  to  move  to  within  a  mile  of  Ostable 
Center. 

"  Humph!  "  says  I,  some  sarcastic.  "  It  looks  to 
me  —  speakin'  as  a  man  in  the  crosstrees  —  as  if  that 
wonderful  business  brain  of  yours  had  sprung  a  leak 
somewheres,  Jim.  Better  get  your  pumps  to  workin', 
hadn't  you?" 

He  snorted.  "  I'd  rather  have  a  leaky  head  than 
a  solid  wood  one  like  some  I  know,"  he  says. 
"  Quiet  your  Jezebellerin'  and  let  me  think.  .  .  . 
There's  one  thing  we  might  do,  of  course:  We 
might  advance  the  other  five  hundred  to  Foster,  let 
him  pay  off  his  mortagage,  and  then  — " 

"  And  then  trust  to  luck  to  get  the  money  back," 
I  put  in.  "  There's  more  charity  than  profit  in  that, 

88 


A  TRAP 

if  you  ask  me.  Once  that  mortgage  is  paid,  you 
couldn't  get  Philander  out  of  that  buildin'  with  a 
derrick.  He  don't  want  to  go." 

"  But  we  might  make  some  sort  of  a  deal  to 
pay  him  a  hundred  dollars  or  so  to  boot  and 
then  — " 

"  And  then  you'd  have  another  hundred  to  collect, 
that's  all.  I  wouldn't  trust  that  billiard  and  sipio 
man  as  fur  as  old  Ebenezer  could  see  through  his 
nigh-to  specs.  No  sir-ee !  Nothin'  doin',  as  the 
boys  say." 

Next  forenoon  I  met  old  Ebenezer  Taylor  on  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  the  Methodist  meetin'-house 
and,  when  he  saw  me,  he  stopped  and  commenced 
chucklin'  and  gigglin'  as  if  he  was  wound  up. 

"  He,  he,  he!  "  says  he.  "  He,  he!  I  hear  you 
and  that  partner  of  yours,  Zebulon,  want  to  buy  my 
property  next  door  to  you.  Well,  I'll  sell  it  to  you 
—  at  a  price.  He,  he,  he!  at  a  price." 

"  So  your  hopeful  and  promisin'  son's  been  tellin' 
tales,  has  he?  "  says  I.  "  I  wa'n't  aware  that  it  was 
your  property  —  yet." 

He  stopped  gigglin'  and  glared  at  me,  sour  and 
bitter  as  a  green  crab-apple. 

"  It's  goin'  to  be,"  he  says.  "  Don't  you  forget 
that,  it's  goin'  to  be.  And  if  you  want  it,  you'll  pay 
my  price.  You  owe  me  for  them  clothes  you 
ruined,  Zeb  Snow  —  for  them  and  for  other  things. 

89 


THE  POSTMASTER 

And  I  cal'late  I've  got  you  fellers  about  where  I 
want  you." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  says  I.  "  You  may  be  glad 
enough  to  sell  to  us  later  on.  What  good  is  an 
empty  buildin'  on  your  hands  ?  Unless  of  course  you 
intend  rentin'  it  for  another  billiard  saloon." 

That  made  him  so  mad  he  fairly  gurgled. 

''  There'll  be  no  billiard  saloon  in  this  town,"  he 
declared.  "  No  more  gilded  ha'nts  of  sin,  temptin' 
young  men  whose  parents  have  spent  good  money  on 
their  education.  No,  you  bet  there  won't!  And 
that  buildin'  may  not  be  empty,  nuther.  I  know 
somethin'.  He,  he,  he!" 

"Sho!"  says  I.  "Do  you?  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  it  of  you,  Ebenezer." 

I  left  him  tryin'  to  think  of  a  fittin'  answer,  and 
walked  on  to  the  store.  Mary  called  to  me  from 
behind  the  letter-boxes. 

"  Mr.  Jacobs  is  in  the  back  room,"  she  says,  "  and 
he  wants  to  see  you  right  away.  Erastus  Taylor  is 
with  him." 

"  'Rastus  Taylor?  "  I  sung  out.  "  Ratty?  What 
in  the  world  —  ?  " 

I  hurried  into  the  back  room.  Sure  enough,  there 
was  Jim  Henry  and  Ratty  caged  behind  a  pile  of 
boxes  and  barrels. 

"Ah,  Skipper!"  says  Jacobs;  "is  that  you?  I 
was  hopin'  you'd  come.  Young  Taylor  here  has 

90 


A  TRAP 

been  suggestin'  an  idea  that  looks  good  to  me.  Tell 
the  Cap'n  what  you've  been  tellin'  me,  Ratty." 

Rat  twisted  uneasy  on  the  box  where  he  was  settin' 
and  give  me  a  side  look  out  of  his  little  eyes.  I  never 
saw  him  look  more  like  his  nickname. 

"  Well,  Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  says,  "  it's  like  this :  I've 
been  thinkin'  and  I  believe  I've  thought  of  a  way 
so  you  and  Mr.  Jacobs  can  get  Philander's  lot  and 
buildin'." 

"You  have,  hey?"  says  I.  "That's  interesting 
if  true.  What's  the  way?  " 

"  Why,"  says  he,  twistin'  some  more,  "  that  mort 
gage  is  due  on  the  first  of  June.  If  it  ain't  paid, 
Philander'll  be  foreclosed  and  he'll  move  out  of 
town.  It's  only  a  thousand  dollars  and  Phi's  got 
half  of  it.  If  somebody  —  you  and  Mr.  Jacobs, 
say  —  was  to  lend  him  t'other  half,  why  then  he 
could  pay  it  off  and  —  and — " 

"  And  stay  where  he  is,"  I  finished  disgusted. 
"  That  would  be  real  lovely  for  Philander,  but  I 
don't  see  where  we  come  in.  This  ain't  a  billiard 
and  loan  society  Mr.  Jacobs  and  I  are  runnin', 
thankin'  you  and  Foster  for  the  suggestion." 

''  Wait  a  minute,  Skipper,"  says  Jim  Henry. 
"  Your  engine  is  runnin'  wild.  That  ain't  Ratty's 
scheme  at  all.  Go  on,  Rat;  spring  it  on  him." 

"  Philander  wouldn't  be  so  set  on  stayin'  where 
he  is,  Cap'n  Zeb,"  says  Rat,  quick  as  a  flash,  "  if  he 


THE  POSTMASTER 

had  another  place  to  move  into;  another  place  here 
on  the  main  road,  convenient  and  handy  by.  And 
I  think  I  know  a  place  that  could  be  got  for  him." 

I  didn't  answer  for  a  minute.  I  was  runnin'  over 
in  my  mind  every  possible  place  that  might  be  sold 
or  let  to  Philander  Foster  for  a  "  Palace."  And  to 
save  my  life  I  couldn't  think  of  one. 

"Well,"  says  I,  at  last,  "where  is  it?" 

Ratty  leaned  forward.  "  What's  the  matter  with 
Aunt  Hannah  Watson's  buildin'  up  the  street?"  he 
says.  "  She's  been  crazy  to  sell  it  for  a  long  spell. 
And  the  lower  floor  would  make  a  pretty  fair  billiard 
room,  wouldn't  it?" 

I  was  disgusted.  I  knew  the  buildin'  he  meant, 
of  course.  Jacobs  and  I  had  talked  it  over  that  very 
mornin'  as  a  possible  place  to  move  the  "  Ostable 
Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes  and  Fancy 
Goods  Store  "  to,  but  we'd  both  decided  it  wa'n't 
nigh  big  enough. 

"Humph!"  says  I,  "that  scheme's  so  brilliant 
you  need  smoked  glass  to  look  at  it.  Do  you  cal'late 
as  good  a  church  woman  as  Aunt  Hannah  Watson 
would  sell  or  let  her  place  for  a  billiard  room?  She 
needs  the  money  bad  enough,  land  knows;  but  she's 
as  down  on  those  ha'nts  of  sin  as  your  dad  Is,  Rat 
Taylor.  She'd  never  sell  to  Phi  Foster  in  this 
world." 

"She  mightn't,  I  give  in,"  answered  Rat.  "  But 
92 


"'Well,   I'll  sell  it  to  you — at  a  price.'" 


A  TRAP 

her  nephew  up  to  Wareham  is  a  diff'rent  breed  of 
cats.  And  since  she  moved  over  there  to  live  along 
with  him,  he's"  got  the  handlin'  of  her  property.  I 
found  that  out  to-day.  From  what  I  hear  of  this 
nephew  man  he  ain't  as  particular  as  his  aunt.  And, 
anyway,  'tain't  necessary  for  Philander  to  make  the 
deal.  You  and  Mr.  Jacobs  might  make  it  for  him." 

I  thought  this  over  for  a  minute.  I  begun  to 
catch  the  idea  that  the  young  scamp  had  in  his  noddle 
—  or  I  thought  I  did. 

"  H'm,"  I  says.  "  Yes,  yes.  You  mean  that  if 
we'd  lend  Philander  enough  to  pay  the  balance  of 
his  mortgage  on  the  buildin'  he's  in  now  and  would 
fix  it  so's  Aunt  Hannah'd  sell  us  her  place,  under  the 
notion  that  we  was  goin'  to  use  it  —  you  mean  that 
then,  after  June  fust,  Foster'd  swap.  He'd  move 
in  there  and  turn  over  the  old  '  Palace  '  to  us." 

He  and  Jim  Henry  both  bobbed  their  heads  em 
phatic. 

"  That's  what  he  means,"  says  Jim. 
'  That's  the  idea  exactly,  Cap'n,"  says  Rat.     "  I 
think  Philander  might  be  willin'  to  do  that." 

"  Is  that  so!"  says  I,  sarcastic.  "Well,  well! 
I  want  to  know !  But,  say,  Ratty,  ain't  you  takin' 
an  awful  lot  of  trouble  on  Foster's  account?  You're 
turrible  unselfish  and  disinterested  all  to  once;  or 
else  there's  a  nigger  in  the  woodpile  somewheres. 
Where  do  you  come  in  on  this?  " 

93 


THE  POSTMASTER 

He  looked  pretty  average  cheap.  He  fussed  and 
fumed  for  a  minute  and  then  he  blurts  out  his  reason. 
"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Cap'n,"  he  says.  "  Philander's 
about  the  best  friend  I've  got  in  this  bum  town  and 
I  get  more  solid  comfort  in  his  saloon  than  anywheres 
else.  If  he's  drove  out  of  Ostable,  I'll  be  lonesomer 
than  the  grave.  I  don't  want  him  to  go.  And 
besides  —  well,  you  see,  the  old  man  —  dad,  I  mean 
—  has  got  a  notion  about  settin'  me  up  in  business 
here.  And  I  don't  want  to  be  set  up  —  not  in  his 
kind  of  business.  I  know  the  kind  of  business  I 
want  to  go  into,  and  .  .  .  but  never  mind  that 
part,"  he  adds,  in  a  hurry. 

I  smiled.  I  remembered  what  old  Ebenezer  had 
said  about  the  "  Palace  "  buildin'  not  bein'  empty  on 
his  hands  very  long  and  about  somethin'  he  knew. 
It  was  all  plain  enough  now.  He  intended  openin' 
some  sort  of  a  store  there  with  his  son  as  boss.  I 
almost  wished  he  would.  'Twould  be  as  good  as 
a  three-ring  circus,  that  store  would,  if  I  knew  Ratty. 
But  I  was  mad,  just  the  same,  and  when  Jim  Henry 
spoke,  I  was  ready  for  him. 

"  Well,  Skipper,"  says  Jacobs,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  the  plan?  " 

"  Think  it's  a  good  one,  if  you're  willin'  to  heave 
morals  and  common  honesty  overboard  —  otherwise 
no.  To  put  up  a  trick  like  that  on  an  old  widow 
woman  like  Aunt  Hannah  Watson  —  to  land  a  bil- 

94 


A  TRAP 

liard  room  on  her  property,  when  she'd  rather  die 
than  have  it  there,  is  too  close  to  robbin'  the  Old 
Ladies'  Home  to  suit  me.  I  wouldn't  touch  it  with 
a  ten-foot  pole.  So  good  day  to  you,  Rat  Taylor," 
says  I,  and  walked  out. 

But  Jim  Henry  Jacobs  didn't  walk  out.  No,  sir! 
him  and  that  young  Taylor  scamp  stayed  in  that 
back  room  for  another  half  hour  and  left  it  whis- 
perin'  in  each  other's  ears  and  actin'  thicker  than 
thieves.  I  wondered  what  was  up,  but  I  was  too 
put-out  and  mad  to  ask. 

"  I'll  look  it  over  right  after  dinner  to-morrer," 
says  Jacobs,  as  they  shook  hands  at  the  front  door. 

"  Sure  you  will,  now  ? "  asks  Ratty,  anxious. 
"  Don't  put  it  off,  'cause  it  may  be  too  late." 

"  At  one  o'clock  to-morrer  I'll  be  there,"  says  Jim 
Henry,  and  Rat  went  away  lookin'  pretty  average 
happy. 

Jacobs  scarcely  spoke  to  me  all  the  rest  of  that 
day  nor  the  next  mornin'.  As  we  got  up  from  the 
boardin'  house  table  the  follerin'  noon  he  says,  with 
out  lookin'  me  in  the  face,  "  I  ain't  goin'  back  to  the 
store  now.  I've  got  an  errand  somewheres  else." 

'  Yes,"  says  I,  "  I  imagined  you  had.  You're 
goin'  down  to  look  at  that  buildin'  of  poor  old  Aunt 
Hannah's.  That's  where  you're  goin'.  Ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself,  Jim  Jacobs?  " 

"  Oh,  cut  it  out!  "  he  snaps,  savage.     "  You  make 
95 


THE  POSTMASTER 

me  tired,  Skipper.  You  and  your  backwoods  scru 
ples  give  me  a  pain.  I've  lived  where  people  aren't 
so  narrow  and  bigoted  and  I  don't  consider  a  bil 
liard  room  an  annex  to  the  hot  place.  If,  by  a 
business  deal,  I  can  get  that  buildin'  next  door  to 
add  to  our  establishment,  I'm  goin'  to  do  it,  if  I 
have  to  use  my  own  money  and  not  a  cent  of  yours. 
Yes,  I  am  goin'  to  look  at  that  Watson  property. 
Now,  what  have  you  got  to  say  about  it?  " 

"  Why,  just  this,"  says  I;  "  I  cal'late  I'll  go  with 
you." 

"  You  will?  "  he  sings  out.     "  You?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  me.  Not  that  I  feel  any  dif 
ferent  about  skinnin'  Aunt  Hannah  than  I  ever  did, 
but  because  there's  a  bare  chance  that  her  place  may 
be  big  enough  for  us  to  move  the  store  and  post- 
office  to,  after  all.  With  that  idea  and  no  other, 
I'll  go  with  you,  Jim." 

So  we  went  together,  though  we  never  spoke  more 
than  two  words  on  the  way  down.  We  got  the  key 
at  the  jewelry  and  hardware  shop  next  door  and 
went  in.  The  Watson  place  was  an  old-fashioned 
tumble-down  buildin'  with  a  big  open  lower  floor 
and  two  or  three  rooms  overhead.  I  saw  right  off 
'twouldn't  do  for  us  to  move  into,  but  likewise  I 
saw  that  the  lower  floor  might  do  for  Foster,  though 
'twa'n't  as  good  as  where  he  was,  by  consider'ble. 

Jim  Henry  looked  the  place  over. 

96 


A  TRAP 

"  No  good  for  us,"  he  snapped. 

"  None  at  all,"  says  I. 

"  Humph !  "  says  he,  and  we  locked  up  and  came 
down  the  steps  together.  As  we  did  so  I  noticed 
someone  watchin'  us  from  acrost  the  road. 

"  There's  our  friend,  Jim  Henry,"  says  I.  "  And, 
judgin'  by  the  way  he's  starin',  he's  got  on  his  fur- 
off  glasses  and  knows  who  we  are." 

He  looked  across.  "Old  Taylor,  by  thunder!  " 
says  he.  "  Well,  if  my  deal  goes  through  we'll  jolt 
the  old  tight-wad  yet." 

"  Do  you  mean  you're  goin'  on  with  that  low-down 
billiard-room  game?"  I  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  he  snapped. 

"  Then  you'll  do  it  on  your  own  hook.  /  won't 
be  part  or  parcel  of  it." 

"  Who  asked  you  to?  "  he  wanted  to  know.  And 
we  didn't  speak  again  for  the  rest  of  that  day.  It 
made  me  feel  bad,  because  he  and  I  had  been  mighty 
friendly,  as  well  as  partners  together.  The  only 
comfort  I  got  out  of  it  was  that,  judgin'  by  the  way 
he  kept  from  lookin'  at  me  or  speakin',  he  didn't 
feel  any  too  good  himself. 

But  that  evenin'  Ratty  drifted  in  and  the  pair  of 
'em  had  another  confab.  And  next  day,  after  the 
mail  had  gone,  Jacobs  got  me  alone  and  says  he : 

"  Well,"  he  says,  "  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that 
I've  written  that  nephew  in  Wareham  and  made  him 

97 


THE  POSTMASTER 

an  offer  on  the  Watson  property.  I  did  it  on  my 
own  responsibility  and  I'll  pay  the  freight.  But  I 
thought  perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

"What  did  you  offer?"  I  asked.     He  told  me. 

"  I'll  take  half,"  says  I,  "  because  I  consider  it  a 
good  investment  at  that  figger.  But  only  with  the 
agreement  that  the  billiard  saloon  sha'n't  go  there." 

'  Then  you  can  keep  your  money,"  he  says,  short. 
And  there  was  another  long  spell  of  not  speakin' 
between  the  two  of  us. 

Mary  noticed  that  there  was  somethin'  wrong, 
and  it  worried  her.  She  spoke  to  me  about  it. 

"  Cap'n  Zeb,"  she  says,  "  what's  the  trouble  be 
tween  you  and  Mr.  Jacobs?  Of  course  it  isn't  my 
business,  and  you  mustn't  tell  me  unless  you  wish  to." 

I  thought  it  over.  "  Well,"  says  I,  "  I  can't  tell 
you  just  now,  Mary.  It's  a  business  matter  we  don't 
agree  on  and  it's  kind  of  private.  I'll  tell  you  some 
day,  but  just  now  I  can't.  It  ain't  all  my  secret,  you 
see." 

"  I  see,"  says  she.  "  I  shouldn't  have  asked.  I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  wasn't  curious,  but  I  do  hate  to 
see  any  trouble  between  you  two.  I  like  you  both." 

I  nodded.  I  was  feelin'  pretty  blue.  "  Jim's  a 
mighty  good  chap  at  heart,"  I  says.  "  I  owe  him 
a  lot  and  he's  consider'ble  more  than  just  a  partner 
to  me." 

"  He  thinks  the  world  of  you,  too,"  says  she. 
98 


A  TRAP 

"  He's  told  me  so  a  great  many  times.  That  is  why 
I  can't  bear  to  see  you  disagree." 

I  couldn't  bear  it  none  too  well,  either,  but  Jim 
Henry  showed  no  signs  of  givin'  in  and  I  wouldn't. 
So  we  moped  around,  keepin'  out  of  each  other's 
way,  and  actin'  for  all  the  world  like  a  couple  of 
young-ones  in  bad  need  of  a  switch. 

A  couple  more  days  went  by  afore  the  answer 
came  from  Wareham.  When  I  saw  the  envelope 
on  the  desk,  with  the  Watson  man's  name  in  the 
corner,  I  knew  what  it  meant  and  I  was  on  hand 
when  Jim  Henry  opened  it.  He  was  ugly  and 
scowlin'  when  he  ripped  off  the  envelope.  Then  I 
heard  him  swear.  I  was  dyin'  to  know  what  the 
letter  said,  but  I  wouldn't  have  asked  him  for  no 
money.  I  walked  out  to  the  front  of  the  store. 
Five  minutes  later  I  felt  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 
He  had  a  curious  expression  on  his  face,  sort  of  a 
mixture  of  mad  and  glad. 

"  Skipper,"  he  says,  "  we're  buncoed  again.  We 
don't  get  the  Watson  place." 

"  Don't,  hey  ?  "  says  I.  "  All  right,  I  sha'n't  shed 
any  tears.  I  wa'n't  after  it,  and  you  know  it.  But 
I'm  surprised  that  your  offer  wa'n't  accepted.  Why 
wa'n't  it?" 

"  Because  somebody  got  ahead  of  me.  Here's 
the  letter.  Listen  to  this :  '  Your  offer  for  my 
aunt's  property  in  Ostable  came  a  day  too  late. 

99 


THE  POSTMASTER 

Yesterday  I  gave  a  year's  option  on  that  property, 
for  five  hundred  dollars  cash,  to  — ' 

"  Land  of  love !  "  I  interrupted.  "  Only  yester 
day!  That  was  close  haulin',  I  must  say." 

"  Wait,"  says  he,  "  you  haven't  heard  the  whole 
of  it.  '  A  year's  option  .  .  .  for  five  hundred 
dollars  cash,  to  Mr.  Taylor  of  your  town.'  ' 

"Taylor!"  says  I.  "Taylor!  My  soul  and 
body!  The  old  skinflint  beat  us  again!  Well,  I 
swan!  " 

"  Um-hm,"  says  he.  "  I  size  it  up  like  this. 
He  saw  us  come  out  of  there  the  other  day  and 
guessed  that  we  thought  of  buyin'  and  movin'.  So, 
as  he  owed  us  a  grudge,  and  because  the  Watson 
property  is,  as  you  said,  a  good  investment  anyhow, 
he  makes  his  option  offer  on  the  jump,  and  beat  me 
to  it." 

I  whistled.  "  I  cal'late  you've  hit  the  nailhead, 
Jim,"  says  I.  "  Well,  to  be  free  and  frank,  I'm  glad 
of  it." 

"  So  am  I,"  says  he. 

That  was  a  staggerer.  I  whirled  round  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  You  are?  "  I  sung  out. 

'  Yes,"  says  he,  "  I  am.  Of  course  I  had  my 
heart  set  on  gettin'  that  '  Palace  '  for  an  addition 
that  would  give  more  room  and  extry  space  to  our 
place  here;  and  the  only  \vay  I  could  see  to  get  it 

100 


A  TRAP 

was  to  take  up  with  that  Rat's  proposition.  I 
haven't  any  prejudice  against  billiards  — " 

"Neither  have  I,  but — " 

"  I  know.  And  you're  right.  Old  lady  Watson 
has,  and  to  run  Foster's  establishment  in  on  her 
would  have  been  a  low-down  mean  trick.  I've  felt 
like  a  thief,  but  I  was  so  pig-headed  I  wouldn't  back 
down.  Now  that  I've  got  it  where  the  chicken  got 
his,  I'm  glad  of  it,  I  really  am.  Partner,  will  you 
forget  my  meanness  and  shake  hands?  " 

Would  I?  I  was  as  tickled  as  a  youngster  with 
a  new  tin  whistle.  And  so  was  he. 

"  There's  only  one  thing  that  keeps  me  mad,"  he 
says,  "  and  that  is  that  old  Ebenezer's  got  the  laugh 
on  us  again.  As  for  more  room  for  the  store  — 
well,  we'll  have  to  think  that  out." 

We  thought,  but  it  wa'n't  us  that  got  the  answer. 
'Twas  Mary  Blaisdell.  I  told  her  what  our  fuss  had 
been  about,  and  she  agreed  that  I  was  right  and  that 
Jim  Henry's  sharp  business  sense  had  sort  of  run 
away  with  him  for  the  time  bein'. 

"  But,"  says  she,  "  we  certainly  do  need  more 
room,  both  in  the  mail  department  and  the  store. 
I've  had  an  idea  for  some  time.  Let  me  think  a 
while." 

Next  day  she  told  Jacobs  and  me  what  her  idea 
was.  'Twas  that  we  should  build  an  addition  on 
to  our  own  buildin'.  Run  it  two  stories  high  and 

101 


THE  POSTMASTER 

right  out  into  the  back  yard.  'Twas  just  the  thing 
and  the  wonder  is  that  we  hadn't  thought  of  k  our 
selves. 

"She's  a  wonder,  Jim,  ain't  she?"  says  I,  when 
we  was  alone  together. 

"  You  think  so,  don't  you,  Skipper,"  says  he, 
smilin'. 

I  flared  up.  "  Sartin  I  do,"  I  says.  "  Don't 
you?" 

"  Indeed  I  do." 

'  Then  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  nothin',  nothin'.  Say,  have  you  seen  old 
Taylor  lately?  I  suppose  he's  crowin'  like  a  Shang 
hai  rooster.  I  do  hate  for  that  old  skinflint  to  have 
the  joke  always  on  his  side." 

"  I  know,"  says  I.  "  So  do  I.  But  some  day, 
if  we  wait  long  enough,  we  may  have  a  chance  to 
laugh  at  him.  I've  lived  a  good  many  year  and 
I've  seen  it  work  that  way  pretty  often.  We'll 
wait  —  and  when  we  do  laugh,  we'll  laugh  hard." 

And  we  didn't  have  to  wait  so  tumble  long 
neither.  We  got  a  carpenter  in,  told  him  to  keep 
it  a  secret,  but  to  plan  how  we  could  build  the  back 
yard  extension.  The  plannin'  and  estimatin'  kept 
us  busy  and  we  forgot  about  everything  else.  Fust 
along  I  expected  young  Taylor  would  pester  .us  with 
more  schemes,  but  he  didn't.  He  never  came  nigh 
us  once,  fact  is  he  seemed  mighty  anxious  to  keep 

102 


A  TRAP 

out  of  our  way,  and  so  long  as  he  did  we  didn't 
complain.  His  dad  come  crowin'  and  chucklin' 
around  a  couple  of  times  and  finally  Jacobs  lost  his 
temper  and  told  him  if  he  ever  showed  his  face  on 
our  premises  again  he  was  liable  to  be  put  to  the 
expense  of  havin'  it  repaired  by  the  doctor. 
Ebenezer  vowed  vengeance  and  law  suits,  but  he 
went,  and  after  that  he  sent  a  boy  for  his  mail  in 
stead  of  comin'  to  fetch  it  himself. 

One  forenoon,  about  eleven  o'clock  'twas,  I  was 
standin'  on  the  store  platform,  when  I  heard  the 
Old  Harry's  own  row  in  the  "  Palace  Billiard,  Pool 
and  Sipio  Parlors."  Loud  voices,  all  goin'  at  once, 
and  two  or  three  different  assortments  of  language. 
Jim  Henry  heard  it,  too,  and  come  out  to  listen. 

"Skipper,"  he  says,  sudden;  "what  day  is 
this?" 

"Why,  Thursday,"  says  I,  "ain't  it?  Oh,  you 
mean  what  day  of  the  month.  Hey?  By  the  ever- 
lastin' !  I  declare  if  it  ain't  the  fust  of  June!  " 

'  The  day  Foster's  mortgage  falls  due,"  he  says, 
excited.  "  I  wonder.  .  .  .  You  don't  sup 
pose — " 

He  didn't  have  to  suppose,  for  inside  of  the  next 
two  minutes  we  both  knew.  Three  men  came  bustin' 
out  of  the  billiard  room  door.  One  was  Philander 
himself,  the  other  was  Ezra  Colcord,  the  lawyer, 
and  the  third  was  our  old  shipmate  and  bosom  friend, 

103 


THE  POSTMASTER 

Ebenezer  Taylor.     The  old  man  was  fairly  frothin' 
at  the  mouth. 

'You  —  you — "  he  sputtered,  "you've  deceived 
me.     You've  lied  to  me.     You  led  me  to  think — " 

"  I  don't  see  as  you've  got  any  kick,  Mr.  Taylor," 
purrs  Philander,  smilin'.  "  You've  got  your  money. 
What  more  can  you  ask?" 

"  But  —  but  I  don't  want  the  money.  I  want 
this  property,  and  I'll  have  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  won't,  Mr.  Taylor,"  says  Colcord, 
the  lawyer.  '  This  property  belongs  to  Foster  now. 
He's  paid  your  mortgage  in  full.  You  have  no 
rights  here  whatever  and  I  advise  you  to  go  before 
you  are  arrested  for  trespassin'." 

Well,  the  old  man  went,  but  he  was  still  talkin' 
and  threatenin'  when  he  turned  the  corner.  Colcord 
laughed  and  shook  hands  with  Philander. 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Foster,"  he  says.  "  He's  sore, 
that's  all,  but  he  has  no  claim  whatever.  You've 
paid  off  your  mortgage  and  the  property  is  yours 
absolutely.  As  for  the  other  matter,  the  papers  will 
be  ready  for  signature  this  afternoon.  Ha,  ha ! 
I  imagine  they  won't  add  to  our  friend's  joy." 

"  Cal'late  not,"  says  Philander,  grinnin'.  "  This'll 
be  his  day  for  surprises,  hey?  " 

They  shook  hands  again  and  Colcord  left.  Soon's 
he'd  gone,  Jim  Henry  grabbed  me  by  the  arm.  He 
didn't  even  wait  for  the  lawyer  to  get  out  of  sight. 

104 


A  TRAP 

"  Come  on,"  he  says.  "  This  is  too  good  to  be 
true.  We  must  find  out  about  this,  Skipper." 

So  over  to  the  "  Parlors  "  we  hurried.  Philander 
looked  sort  of  queer  when  he  saw  us  comin',  but  he 
didn't  run  away.  We  commenced  to  ask  questions, 
both  of  us  together.  After  we'd  asked  a  dozen  or 
so,  he  held  up  his  hand. 

"  Come  inside,"  he  says,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  about 
it.  The  secret'll  be  out  in  a  little  while,  anyhow, 
and  maybe  we  do  owe  you  fellers  a  little  mite  of 
explanation." 

We  went  in,  wonderin'.  Philander  set  up  the 
cigars,  ten-centers  at  that,  and  then  he  says: 

"  Yes,  I've  paid  off  my  mortgage  and  I  cal'late 
you  wonder  where  the  money  came  from.  Five 
hundred  of  it  I  had  myself.  You  knew  that." 

"  Yes,"  says  Jacobs,  and  I  nodded. 

"  Um-hm,"  says  he.  "  Well,  I  loaned  the  five 
hundred  to  Ratty  and  he  bought  the  option  on  Aunt 
Hannah's  buildin'  with  it." 

We  fairly  jumped  off  our  pins. 

"What?"  says  I. 

"  Rat  bought  that  option?"  gasped  Jim  Henry. 
"  Nonsense!  his  dad  bought  it." 

"  No-o,"  says  Philander,  solemn,  "  'twas  Rat  that 
bought  it  at  fust.  The  whole  scheme  was  his  and 
I  give  him  credit  for  it.  After  Mr.  Jacobs  here 
had  agreed  to  look  at  the  Watson  place,  Ratty  got 

105 


THE  POSTMASTER 

Ed.  Holmes  to  take  him  over  to  Wareham  in  his 
auto.  There  he  see  this  nephew  of  Aunt  Hannah's, 
paid  down  his  five  hundred  and  got  the  option." 

"  But  that  letter  I  got  said — "  began  Jim  Henry, 
and  then  he  pulled  up  short.  "  No,"  says  he,  "  it 
said  '  Mr.  Taylor  '  had  secured  the  option;  I  remem 
ber  now.  But,  of  course,  we  supposed  it  was 
Ebenezer." 

"  And  Ebenezer  did  have  it,"  I  put  in.  "  He 
told  me  so  himself.  I  met  him  on  the  road  and 
he—" 

"  Hold  on,  Cap'n,"  cuts  in  Philander,  "  no  use 
goin'  through  all  that.  Ebenezer  has  got  it  now. 
Ratty  decoyed  his  dad  down  abreast  the  Watson 
place  while  you  and  Mr.  Jacobs  was  inside  lookin' 
it  over,  and  the  old  man  see  you  two  come  out." 

"  I  know  he  did,"  says  I.  "  I  saw  him  peekin' 
at  us  from  behind  a  tree." 

"  Yes,"  goes  on  Foster,  "  he  was  there.  And, 
naturally,  he  jedged  you  was  cal'latin'  to  buy  that 
buildin'  and  move  into  it.  Fact  is,  he'd  been  in- 
tendin'  to  buy  it  himself  as  an  investment,  and,  now 
that  there  was  a  chance  to  spite  you  fellers  hove 
in  for  good  measure,  he  was  more  anxious  to  get 
it  than  ever.  Then  Rat  broke  the  news  that  he 
had  the  option  and  was  willin'  to  sell  it  to  the  highest 
bidder.  Ha !  ha !  I  guess  there  was  a  lively  ses 
sion,  but  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  Ebenezer  bought 

106 


A  TRAP 

that    option    off    his   boy    for    a    thousand    dollars. 
That's  how  he  got  it." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  hanged!  "  says  Jim  Henry.  I  was 
way  past  sayin'  anything. 

"  And  so,"  continues  Philander,  "  the  five  hundred 
dollars'  profit  on  the  option  and  the  five  hundred 
dollars  I  lent  Rat  to  start  with  made  just  the  amount 
needful  to  pay  off  my  mortgage.  And,  Squire  Col- 
cord  and  me  paid  it  off  this  mornin'.  You  fellers 
heard  the  concludin'  section  of  the  ceremonies. 
Ebenezer's  benediction  was  some  spicy,  hey!  " 

"But  —  but  —  why,  look  here,  Philander,"  says 
I.  "  I  don't  understand  this  at  all.  Five  hundred 
of  that  thousand  was  Rat's.  He  ain't  no  philan 
thropist;  he  wouldn't  give  it  to  you,  unless  miracles 
are  comin'  into  fashion  again.  What  — " 

Foster  laughed.  "  There  is  a  little  somethin' 
underneath,"  he  says.  "  It's  been  kept  pretty  close, 
but  the  cat'll  be  out  of  the  bag  afore  the  day's  over 
and,  considerin'  how  much  you  two  helped  without 
meanin'  to,  I'd  just  as  soon  tell  you.  Ratty  told  you 
that  his  pa  was  cal'latin'  to  set  him  up  in  business, 
didn't  he?  Yes.  Well,  Rat's  had  a  notion  for  a 
long  spell  about  the  business  he  meant  to  get  into. 
There's  a  new  sign  been  ordered  for  this  shebang 
of  mine.  Here's  the  copy  for  it." 

He  reached  under  the  cigar  counter  and  held  up 
a  long  piece  of  pasteboard.  'Twas  lettered  like  this : 

107 


THE  POSTMASTER 

PALACE  BILLIARD,  POOL  AND  SIPIO 
PARLORS. 

PHILANDER  FOSTER  &  ERASTUS  TAYLOR, 
Proprietors. 

"  I  cal'late  the  old  man'll  disown  his  son  when  he 
knows  it,"  goes  on  Foster,  "  but  Rat  had  rather  run 
a  pool  room  than  be  rich,  any  day  in  the  week.  And 
say,"  he  adds,  "  if  I  was  you  fellers  I'd  try  to  be  on 
hand  when  Ebenezer  fust  sees  the  new  sign.  I 
should  think  you'd  get  consider'ble  satisfaction  from 
watchin'  his  face.  I'm  cal'latin'  to,  myself,"  says 
Philander  Foster. 


108 


CHAPTER  VI 

I  RUN  AFOUL  OF  COUSIN  LEMUEL 

WELL,  to  be  honest,  I  felt  pretty  bad  about 
that  billiard  room  business.  I  was  real 
sorry  for  old  Ebenezer.  Of  course 
Taylor  was  a  skinflint  and  a  thorough-goin'  mean 
man,  but  Ratty  was  his  son  and  his  pride,  and  to 
have  a  son  play  a  dog's  trick  like  that  on  the  father 
that  had,  at  least,  tried  to  make  somethin'  out  of 
him,  seemed  tough  enough.  And  my  conscience 
plagued  me.  I  felt  almost  as  if  I  was  to  blame 
somehow.  I  wa'n't,  of  course,  but  I  felt  that  way. 
A  feller's  conscience  is  the  most  unreasonable  part 
of  his  works;  I've  noticed  it  often. 

But  I  needn't  have  wasted  any  sympathy  on 
Ebenezer.  For  the  fust  little  while  after  his  boy 
went  into  the  pool  and  sipio  business,  he  was  a  sore 
chap.  Then,  all  at  once,  I  noticed  that  he  took  to 
hangin'  around  the  "  Parlors  "  consider'ble  and  one 
evenin'  I  saw  him  comin'  out  of  there,  all  smiles.  I 
was  standin'  on  the  store  platform  and  as  he  passed 
me  I  hailed  him.  We  hadn't  spoken  for  a  consid 
er'ble  spell,  but  I  hadn't  any  grudge,  for  my  part. 

109 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"Hello!"  says  I,  "what  are  you  so  tickled 
about?" 

I  didn't  know  as  he  wouldn't  throw  somethin'  at 
me  for  darin'  to  hail  him,  but  no,  he  was  ready  to 
talk  to  anybody,  even  me. 

"  No  use,"  says  he,  "  that  boy  of  mine's  a  mighty 
smart  feller.  He  just  beat  Tom  Baker  three  games 
runnin',  and  spotted  him  two  balls  on  the  last  one. 
He's  a  wonder,  if  I  do  say  it." 

I  looked  at  him.  This  didn't  sound  much  like 
disinheritin'. 

'  Three  games  of  what?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  pool,"  says  he,  "  of  course.  And  Baker's 
been  countin'  himself  the  best  player  in  the  county. 
'Rastus  was  playin'  for  the  house.  Him  and  Phi 
lander  cleared  over  a  hundred  dollars  in  the  last 
month.  That  ain't  so  bad  for  a  young  feller  just 
startin'  in,  is  it?  I  always  knew  that  boy  had  the 
business  instinct,  if  he'd  only  wake  up  to  it.  I've 
told  folks  so  time  and  again." 

He  went  along,  chucklin'  to  himself,  and  I  stood 
still  and  whistled.  And  when  I  heard  that  the  old 
man  had  taken  to  callin'  the  anti-billiard-room  crowd 
bigoted  and  narrer  it  didn't  surprise  me  much.  I 
judged  that  Ebenezer's  opinions  was  like  those  of 
others  of  his  tribe  —  dependent  on  the  profit  and 
loss  account  in  the  ledger.  You  can  forgive  your 
own  kith  and  kin  a  lot  easier  than  you  can  outsiders, 

no 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

especially  if  your  moral  scruples  are  the  Taylor 
kind,  to  be  reckoned  in  dollars  and  cents. 

The  carpenters  were  ready  to  begin  work  on  our 
store  addition  at  last,  and  we  started  right  in  to 
build  on.  'Twas  an  awful  job,  enough  sight  worse 
than  movin',  but  it  had  to  be  got  through  with  some 
way  and  we  wanted  to  have  it  finished  when  the 
summer  season  opened  for  good.  If  the  store  had 
been  cluttered  up  and  crowded  afore,  it  was  ten 
times  worse  now.  The  amount  of  energy  and 
healthy  remarks  that  Jacobs, and  I  wasted  in  fallin' 
over  and  runnin'  into  things  would  have  kept  a 
steamer's  engines  goin'  from  Boston  to  Liverpool, 
I  cal'late.  I  expected  one  of  us  would  break  our 
neck  sartin  sure,  but  we  didn't  and,  by  the  fust  of 
July  we  thought  we  could  see  the  end. 

"There!"  says  I,  "  in  another  week  we'll  be 
clear  of  sawdust,  I  do  believe.  The  painters  won't 
be  so  bad.  And  we've  got  on  without  any  accidents, 
too,  which  is  a  miracle." 

"  You  ought  to  knock  wood  when  you  say  that, 
Skipper,"  says  Jim  Henry. 

"  I've  knocked  enough  of  it  already  —  with  my 
head,"  I  told  him.  But  I  hadn't.  At  any  rate  the 
accident  come,  and  not  by  reason  of  the  buildin'  on, 
either.  It  come  right  in  the  way  of  everyday  trade, 
from  where  we  wa'n't  expectin'  it.  That's  the  way 
such  things  generally  happen.  A  feller  runs  under 

in 


THE  POSTMASTER 

a  tree,  so's  to  keep  from  gettin'  rained  on  and  catchin' 
cold,  and  then  the  tree's  struck  by  lightnin'. 

If  I'd  remembered  what  old  Sylvanus  Baxter  said 
when  they  asked  him  to  prove  one  of  his  fish  state 
ments,  I'd  have  been  a  wiser  man.  Sylvanus  was 
tellin'  how  many  mack'rel  him  and  his  brother  caught 
off  Setucket  P'int  with  a  hand  line,  back  when  Methu- 
salum  was  a  child,  or  about  then.  Forty-eight  bar 
rels  they  caught,  and  it  nigh  filled  the  dory.  One 
of  the  young  city  fellers  who  was  listenin'  undertook 
to  doubt  the  yarn.  He  got  a  piece  of  paper  and  a 
pencil  and  proved  that  a  dory  wouldn't  hold  that 
many  fish.  Sylvanus  shut  him  up  in  a  hurry. 

'  Young  man,"  he  says,  scornful,  "  where  a  human 
bein'  is  blessed  with  a  memory  same  as  I've  got, 
proof's  too  unsartin  to  compare  with  it." 

If  I'd  borne  in  mind  what  Sylvanus  said  and  abided 
by  it  I  might  not  have  dropped  the  barrel  of  sugar 
on  my  starboard  foot.  I'd  have  been  satisfied  to 
remember  my  strength  and  not  try  to  prove  it  by 
liftin'  the  said  barrel  off  the  tailboard  of  our  delivery 
wagon. 

However,  I  did  try,  and  the  result  was  that  the 
barrel  slipped  when  I'd  got  it  'most  to  the  ground, 
and  my  foot  went  out  of  commission  with  a  hurrah, 
so  to  speak. 

Jim  Henry  come  runnin'  and  him  and  the  clerk 
loaded  me  into  the  wagon  and  carted  me  off  to  my 

112 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

rooms  at  the  Poquit  House.  And  there  I  stayed 
in  dry  dock  for  three  weeks,  while  the  doctor  done 
his  best  to  patch  up  my  busted  trotter  and  get  me 
off  the  ways  and  into  active  service  again. 

He  done  his  part  all  right.  I  was  mendin'  so 
far  as  the  lower  end  of  me  was  concerned,  but  my 
upper  works  and  temper  was  gettin'  more  tangled 
and  snarled  every  day.  Too  much  company  was 
the  trouble.  I  had  too  many  folks  runnin'  in  to 
ask  how  I  was  gettin'  on  and  to  talk  and  talk  and 
talk.  Jim  Henry  he  come,  of  course,  to  talk  about 
the  store;  and  Mary  Blaisdell,  to  tell  me  how  the 
post-office  was  doin'.  I  could  stand  them;  fact  is, 
Mary  was  a  sort  of  soothin'  sirup,  with  her  pleasant 
face  and  calm,  cheery  voice.  But  the  parson  he 
come,  to  keep  the  spiritual  part  of  me  ready  for 
whatever  might  happen;  and  the  undertaker,  to  be 
sure  he  got  the  other  part,  if  it  did  happen;  and 
twenty-odd  old  maids  and  widows  from  sewin'-circle 
to  talk  about  each  other  and  church  squabbles  and 
the  dreadful  sufferin's  and  agonizin'  deaths  of  their 
relations,  who'd  had  accidents  similar  to  mine. 

They  made  me  so  fidgety  and  mad  that  the  doctor 
noticed  it.  "What's  troublin'  you,  Cap'n  Snow?" 
he  asked.  "  No  new  pains,  I  hope?  " 

"Humph!"  says  I.  "Your  hope's  blasted. 
I've  got  the  meanest  pain  I've  had  yet." 

"  Where?  "  says  he,  anxious. 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  All  over,"  I  says.  '  Tabitha  Nickerson's  re 
sponsible  for  it.  She's  been  here  for  the  last  hour 
and  a  half,  tellin'  about  how  her  second  cousin,  by 
her  uncle's  marriage,  stuck  a  nail  in  his  hand  and 
was  amputated  twice  and  finally  died  of  lingerin' 
lockjaw.  She  never  missed  a  groan.  Consarn  her! 
She  gives  me  a  pain  just  to  look  at." 

He  laughed.  '  That's  the  trouble  with  you  old 
bachelors,"  he  says.  "  You're  too  popular  with  the 
fair  sex." 

"  Fair !  "  I  sung  out.  "  Doc,  if  you  mean  to  say 
Tabby  Nickerson's  fair,  then  I'm  goin'  to  switch  to 
the  homeopaths.  Your  judgment  ain't  depend 
able." 

He  laughed  again  and  then  he  went  on.  Seems 
he'd  been  thinkin'  for  quite  a  spell  that  the  Poquit 
House  wasn't  the  place  for  me. 

>l  What  you  need,  Cap'n,"  he  says,  "  is  a  nice  quiet 
spot  where  nobody  can  get  at  you  —  that  is,  nobody 
but  the  disagreeable  necessities,  like  me.  I've  found 
the  place  for  you  to  board  durin'  your  convalescence. 
Do  you  know  the  Deacon  house  over  at  South 
Ostable  on  the  lower  road?  " 

"  If  you  mean  Lot  Deacon's,  I  do  —  yes,"  says  I. 

'  That's  it,"  says  he.  "  Lot's  all  alone  there,  and 
he'd  be  mighty  glad  of  a  boarder.  The  house  is  as 
neat  as  wax,  and  Lot  used  to  go  as  cook  on  a  Banks' 
boat,  so  you'll  be  fed  well.  It's  right  on  the  shore, 

114 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

with  the  woods  back  of  it.     There's  a  splendid  view, 
the  air's  fine,  and  —  and — " 

"  Don't  strain  yourself,  Doc,"  I  put  in.  "  You 
couldn't  think  of  anything  else  if  you  thought  for  a 
week.  Air  and  view  is  all  there  is  in  that  neigh 
borhood.  What  on  earth  have  I  done  to  be  sen 
tenced  to  serve  a  term  at  Lot  Deacon's?  " 

Well,  it  was  quiet,  and  I  needed  quiet.  It  was 
restful,  and  I  needed  rest.  It  was  too  far  from 
civilization  for  the  undertaker  or  the  sewin'-circle 
to  get  at  me.  It  was  —  but  there  !  never  mind  the 
rest.  The  upshot  was  that  I  agreed  to  board  at 
Lot's  till  my  foot  got  well  enough  to  navigate  and 
they  carted  me  down  in  the  delivery  wagon,  next  day. 

The  Deacon  place  lived  up  to  specifications  all 
right.  Nighest  neighbor  half  a  mile  off,  woods  all 
round  on  three  sides,  and  the  bay  on  t'other.  Good 
grub  and  plenty  of  it.  And  no  company  except  the 
doctor  every  other  day,  and  Jim  Henry  the  days 
between,  and  Lot  —  oh,  land,  yes !  Lot,  always  and 
forever. 

He  was  a  meek  little  critter,  Lot  was,  accommo- 
datin'  and  willin'  to  please,  as  good  a  cook  as  ever 
fried  a  clam,  and  a  great  talker  on  some  subjects. 
He  was  a  widower,  with  no  relations  except  an  aunt- 
in-law  over  to  Denboro,  and  a  third  cousin  up  to 
Boston;  and  his  principal  hobby  was  spirits  and 
mediums  and  such.  He  was  as  sot  on  Spiritu'lism 


THE  POSTMASTER 

as  anybody  ever  you  see,  and  hadn't  missed  a  Spirit'- 
list  camp-meetin'  in  Harniss  durin'  the  memory  of 
man. 

However,  Lot  and  I  got  along  first-rate  and  he'd 
set  and  talk  by  the  hour  about  the  camp-meetin', 
which  was  a  couple  of  weeks  off,  and  how  he  was 
goin',  and  so  on.  Said  I  needn't  worry  about  bein' 
left  alone,  'cause  his  wife's  Aunt  Lucindy  from  Den- 
boro  was  comin'  to  keep  house  for  me  durin'  the 
two  days  he  was  away. 

"Is  your  Aunt  Lucindy  given  to  spirits,  too?" 
I  wanted  to  know. 

No,  she  wasn't.  Seems  her  particular  bug  was 
"  mind  cure."  She  was  a  widow  whose  husband 
had  died  of  creepin'  paralysis.  She'd  tried  every 
kind  of  doctorin'  and  patent  medicines  on  him  and, 
in  spite  of  it,  the  last  specimen  of  "  Swamp  Bitters  " 
or  '  Thistle  Tea  "  finished  him.  But,  anyhow, 
Aunt  Lucindy  had  no  faith  in  medicines  or  doctors 
after  that.  She'd  tried  'em  all  and  they'd  gone  back 
on  her.  Now  she  was  a  "  mind-curer." 

"  She'll  prob'bly  try  to  cure  your  foot  with  mind, 
Cap'n  Zeb,"  says  Lot,  apologetic  as  usual.  "  But  you 
mustn't  worry  about  that.  She  means  well." 

"  I  sha'n't  worry,"  I  says.  "  She  can  put  her 
mind  on  my  foot,  if  she  wants  to;  unless  it's  as  hefty 
as  that  sugar  barrel  I  cal'late  'twon't  hurt  me  much. 
But  say,  Lot,"  I  says,  "  are  all  your  folks  taken  with 

116 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

something  special  in  the  line  of  religion  or  cures? 
How  about  this  cousin  —  this  Lemuel  one?  What's 
possessin'  him?" 

Oh,  Cousin  Lemuel  was  different.  He'd  had 
money  left  him  and  was  an  aristocrat.  He  never 
married,  but  lived  in  "  chambers  "  up  to  Boston. 
He  didn't  have  to  work,  but  was  a  "  collector"  for 
the  fun  of  it;  collected  postage  stamps  and  folks' 
hand-writin's  and  insects  and  such.  He  wasn't  very 
well,  his  nerves  was  kind  of  twittery,  so  Lot  said. 

"  Um-hm,"  says  I.  "  Well,  collectin'  insects 
would  make  most  anybody's  nerves  twitter,  I  cal'late. 
But  if  Cousin  Lemuel  likes  'em,  I  s'pose  we  hadn't 
ought  to  fret.  He  could  pick  up  a  healthy  collection 
of  wood-ticks  back  here  in  the  pines,  if  he'd  only 
come  after  'em,  though  it  ain't  likely  he  will." 

But  he  did,  just  the  same.  Not  after  the  ticks, 
exactly,  but,  as  sure  as  I'm  settin'  here,  this  Cousin 
Lemuel  landed  in  the  house  at  South  Ostable,  bag 
and  baggage.  'Twas  three  days  afore  the  begin- 
nin'  of  camp-meetin'  and  two  afore  Aunt  Lucindy 
was  expected  over.  Lot  and  me  was  settin'  in  rockin' 
chairs  by  the  front  windows  in  my  room  lookin'  out 
over  the  bay,  when  all  to  once  we  heard  the  rattle 
of  a  wagon  from  the  woods  abaft  the  kitchen. 

"  It's  the  doctor,  I  cal'late,"  says  Lot,  wakin'  up 
and  stretchin'.  "  Ah,  hum,  I  s'pose  I'll  have  to  go 
down  and  let  him  in." 

117 


THE  POSTMASTER 

'Tain't  the  doctor,"  says  I.  "  He  come  yester 
day.  More  likely  it's  Mr.  Jacobs,  though  I  thought 
he'd  gone  to  Boston  and  wouldn't  be  back  for  three 
or  four  days." 

But  a  minute  later  we  see  we  was  mistaken. 
Around  the  house  come  rattlin'  Simeon  Wixon's  old 
depot  wagon,  with  the  curtains  all  drawed  down  — 
though  'twas  hot  summer  —  and  the  rack  astern  and 
the  seat  in  front  piled  up  high  with  trunks  and  bags 
and  satchels  and  goodness  knows  what  all.  Sim  was 
drivin'  and  he  had  a  grin  on  him  like  a  Chessy  cat. 

''  Whoa  !  "  says  he,  haulin'  in  the  horses.  "  Ahoy, 
Lot !  Turn  out  there !  Got  a  passenger  for  you." 

Lot  was  so  surprised  he  could  hardly  believe  his 
ears,  though  they  was  big  enough  to  be  believed. 
He  h'isted  up  the  window  screen  and  looked  out. 

"Hey?"  he  says,  bewildered-like.  "Did  you 
say  a  passenger?  " 

"  That's  what  I  said.  A  passenger  for  you. 
Come  on  down." 

"  A  passenger?     For  me?" 

'Yes!  yes!  yes!"  Simeon's  patience  was  givin' 
out,  and  no  wonder.  "  Don't  stay  up  there,"  he 
snaps,  "  with  your  head  stuck  out  of  that  window 
like  a  poll-parrot's  out  of  a  cage.  And  don't  keep 
sayin'  things  over  and  over  or  I'll  believe  you  are  a 
poll-parrot.  Come  down!  "  Then,  leaning  back 
and  hollerin'  in  behind  the  carriage  curtains,  he  sung 

118 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

out,   "Hi,  mister!   here  we  be.     You  can  get  out 
now." 

The  curtains  shook  a  little  mite  and  then,  from 
behind  'em,  sounded  a  voice,  a  man's  voice,  but  kind 
of  shrill  and  high,  and  with  a  quiver  in  the  middle 
of  it. 

"Are  you  sure  this  is  the  right  place,  driver?" 
it  says. 

"  Sartin  sure.     This  is  it." 

"  But  are  you  certain  those  animals  are  perfectly 
safe?  They  won't  run  away?" 

The  horses  was  takin'  a  nap,  the  two  of  'em.  Sim 
grinned,  wider'n  ever,  and  winks  up  at  the  window. 

"  I'll  do  my  best  to  hold  'em,"  he  says.  "  If 
I'd  known  you  was  comin'  I'd  have  fetched  an 
anchor." 

The  curtains  shook  some  more,  as  if  the  feller 
inside  was  fidgetin'  with  'em.  Then  the  voice  says 
again  and  more  excited  than  ever,  "  Well,  why  in 
Heaven's  name  don't  you  unfasten  this  dreadful 
door?  How  am  I  to  get  out?" 

Simeon  stood  grinnin',  ripped  a  remark  loose  un 
der  his  breath,  jumped  from  the  seat,  and  yanked 
the  door  open.  There  was  a  full  half  minute  afore 
anything  happened.  Then  out  from  that  wagon 
door  popped  a  black  feit  hat  with  a  brim  like  a  small- 
sized  umbrella.  Under  the  hat  was  a  pair  of  thin, 
grayish  side-whiskers,  a  long  nose,  and  a  pair  of  specs 

119 


THE  POSTMASTER 

like  full  moons.     The  hat  and  the  rest  of  it  turned 
towards  the  horses  and  the  voice  says: 

'  You're  perfectly  sure  of  those  creatures  you  are 
drivin'?  Very  good.  Where  is  the  step?  Oh, 
dear!  where  is  the  step?" 

Sim  reached  in,  grabbed  a  little  foot  with  one  of 
them  things  they  call  a  "  gaiter  "  on  it,  hauled  it 
down  and  planted  it  on  the  step  of  the  carriage. 

;' There!"  he  snaps.  "There  'tis,  underneath 
you.  Come  on  !  Here  !  I'll  unload  you." 

Maybe  the  passenger  would  have  said  somethin' 
else,  but  he  didn't  have  a  chance.  Afore  he  could 
even  think  he  was  jerked  out  of  that  depot  wagon 
and  stood  up  on  the  ground. 

"  There!  "  says  Simeon.  "  Now  you're  safe  and 
no  bones  broken.  Where  do  you  want  your  dun 
nage;  in  the  house?" 

I  don't  know  what  answer  he  got.  Afore  I  could 
hear  it  there  was  a  gasp  and  a  gurgle  from  Lot. 
I  turned  to  him.  He  was  leaning  out  of  the  window 
starin'  down  at  the  little  man  under  the  big  hat. 

"  I  believe  — "  he  says,  "I  —  I  —  why,  it's 
Cousin  Lemuel !  " 

Cousin  Lemuel  looked  around  him,  at  the  house, 
at  the  woods,  at  the  bay,  at  everything. 

"  Good  heavens!  "  says  he,  in  a  sort  of  groan. — 
"  Good  heavens!  what  an  awful  place!  " 

That's  how  he  made  port  and  that  was  his  first 
1 20 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

observation  after  landin'.  He  made  consider'ble 
many  more  durin'  the  next  few  days,  but  the  drift 
of  'em  was  all  similar.  He  was  a  bird,  Cousin 
Lemuel  was.  His  twittery  nerves  had  twittered  so 
much  durin'  the  past  month  or  so  that  his  doctors  — 
he  had  seven  or  eight  of  'em  —  had  got  tired  of  the 
chirrup,  I  cal'late,  had  held  officers'  counsel,  and 
decided  he  must  be  got  rid  of  somehow.  They 
couldn't  kill  him,  'cause  that  was  against  the  law,  so 
they  done  the  next  best  and  ordered  him  to  the  sea 
shore  for  a  complete  rest;  at  least,  he  said  the  rest 
was  to  be  for  him,  but  I  judge  'twas  the  doctors  that 
needed  it  most.  He  wouldn't  go  to  a  hotel  —  hotels 
were  horrible, —  but  he  happened  to  think  of  relation 
Lot  down  in  South  Ostable  and  headed  for  there. 
Whether  or  not  Lot  could  take  him  in,  or  wanted 
to,  didn't  trouble  him  a  mite !  He  wanted  to  come 
and  that  was  sufficient!  He  never  even  took  the 
trouble  to  write  that  he  was  comin'.  When  he  once 
made  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing,  and  got  sot  on  it, 
he  was  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Possums — • 
or  whatever  they  was  —  in  Scripture;  you  couldn't 
upset  him  in  two  thousand  years.  It  got  to  be  a 
"matter  of  principle"  with  him  —  he  was  always 
tellin'  about  his  matters  of  principle  —  and  when  the 
"  principle  "  complication  struck,  that  settled  it.  Oh, 
Cousin  Lemuel  was  a  bird,  just  as  I  said. 

And  Lot,  of  course,  didn't  have  gumption  enough 
121 


THE  POSTMASTER 

to  say  he  wasn't  welcome.  No,  indeed;  fact  is,  Lot 
seemed  to  consider  his  comin'  a  sort  of  honor,  as 
you  might  say.  If  that  retired  bug-collector  had  been 
the  Queen  of  Sheba,  he  couldn't  have  had  more  fuss 
made  over  him.  The  schooner-load  of  trunks  and 
satchels  was  carted  aloft  to  the  big  room  next  to 
mine, —  Lot's  room  'twas,  but  Lot  soared  to  the 
attic, —  and  Cousin  Lemuel  was  carted  there  like 
wise.  He  was  introduced  to  me,  and  about  the  first 
thing  he  said  was,  would  I  mind  wearin'  a  dressin'- 
robe,  or  a  bath-sack,  or  somethin'  to  cover  up  my 
game  foot?  the  sight  of  the  dreadful  bandage  affected 
his  nerves.  I  was  sort  of  shy  on  sacks  and  dolmans 
and  such,  but  I  done  my  best  to  please  him  with 
a  patchwork  comforter. 

I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  the  things  he  did,  or  had 
Lot  do  for  him.  Changin'  the  feather  bed  for  a 
pumped-up  air  mattress  he'd  fetched  along  —  air 
mattresses  was  a  matter  of  principle  with  him  —  and 
firin'  the  rag  mats  off  the  floor  of  his  room,  'cause 
the  round-and-round  braids  made  whirligigs  in  his 
head  —  and  so  on.  But  I  sha'n't  forget  that  first 
night  in  a  hurry. 

He  was  in  and  out  of  my  room  no  less  than  fifteen 
times,  rigged  out  in  some  sort  of  blanket  dress,  fas 
tened  with  a  rope  amidships.  He  wore  that  over 
his  nightgown,  and  a  shawl  like  an  old  woman's  on 
top  of  the  blanket.  His  head  was  tied  up  in  a  silk 

122 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

handkerchief;  and  his  feet  was  shoved  into  slippers 
that  flapped  up  and  down  when  he  walked  and 
sounded  like  a  slack  jib  in  a  light  breeze.  First  off 
he  couldn't  sleep  'cause  the  frogs  hollered.  Next, 
'twas  the  surf  that  troubled  him.  Then  the  window 
blinds  creaked.  And,  at  last,  I'm  blessed  if  he  didn't 
come  flappin'  and  rustlin'  in  at  half-past  one  to  ask 
what  made  it  so  quiet.  I  was  desp'rate,  and  I  told 
him  I  was  subject  to  nightmare,  and  had  been  known 
to  cripple  folks  that  come  in  and  woke  me  sudden 
that  way.  He  cleared  out  and  I  heard  him  pilin' 
chairs  and  furniture  against  his  door  on  the  inside. 
After  that  I  managed  to  sleep  till  six  o'clock.  Then 
he  knocked  and  asked  if  I  was  thoroughly  awake, 
'cause  if  I  was  would  I  tell  him  what  sort  of  weather 
'twas  likely  to  be,  so's  he  could  dress  accordin'.  His 
risin'  hour  was  nine, —  more  principle,  of  course, — 
but  he  liked  to  know  what  to  wear  when  he  did 
get  up. 

And  he  was  just  as  bad  all  that  day  and  the  next. 
I'd  have  quit  and  had  the  doctor  take  me  back  to  the 
Poquit  House,  but  I  didn't  like  to  on  Lot's  account. 
Poor  Lot  was  all  upset  and  needed  some  sane  per 
son  to  turn  to  for  comfort.  And  besides,  although 
he  made  me  mad,  I  got  consider'ble  fun  out  of  this 
Lemuel  man's  doin's.  He  was  such  a  specimen  that 
I  liked  to  study  him,  same  as  he  used  to  study  a  new 
species  of  insect,  when  he  had  that  particular  craze. 

123 


THE  POSTMASTER 

He  seemed  to  like  me,  too,  in  a  way.  Anyhow 
he  used  to  come  in  and  talk  to  me  pretty  frequent. 
He  had  three  words  that  he  used  all  the  time  — 
"  awful  "  and  "  dreadful  "  and  "  horrible."  Every 
thing  in  the  neighborhood  fitted  to  them  words, 
'cordin'  to  his  notion.  And  he  had  one  question  that 
he  kept  askin'  over  and  over:  What  should  he  do? 
What  was  there  to  do  in  the  dreadful  place  ? 

''  Why  don't  you  keep  on  collectin'  ?  "  I  asked  him. 
;'  We're  kind  of  scurce  on  postage  stamps,  and  the 
handwritin'  supply  is  limited;  though  you  never  col 
lected  anything  like  Lot's  signature,  I'll  bet  a  cooky. 
But  there's  bugs  enough,  land  knows  I  Why  don't 
you  go  bug-huntin'?  " 

Oh,  he  was  tired  of  insects.  Never  wanted  to  see 
one  again ! 

'  Then  you'll  have  to  wear  blinders  when  you  go 
past  the  salt-marsh,"  says  I.  "  The  moskeeters  are 
so  thick  there  they  get  in  your  eyes.  Why  not  take 
a  swim?  " 

Horrible !  he  loathed  salt-water.  He  never 
bathed  in  it,  as  a  matter  of  — 

I  interrupted  quick — "  Then  take  a  walk,"  says  I. 

Walking  was  a  "  bore." 

"  Well  then,"  I  says,  "  just  do  what  the  doctor 
ordered  —  set  and  rest." 

But  settin'  made  his  nerves  worse  than  ever !  "  I 
don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me,  Cap'n  Snow," 

124 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

he  says.  "  My  physicians  seemed  to  think  I  should 
find  what  I  needed  here,  but  I  don't!  —  I  don't! 
I  am  more  depressed  and  enervated  than  ever." 

"  I  know  what  you  need,"  I  said  emphatic. 

"  Do  you  indeed?     What,  pray?  " 

"  Somethin'  to  keep  you  interested,"  I  told  him. 
"  Your  life's  like  a  wharf  timber  that  the  worms 
have  been  at  —  there's  too  many  *  bores '  in  it.  If 
you  could  find  somethin'  bran-new  to  interest  you, 
you'd  be  lively  enough.  I'd  risk  the  depression  then 
—  and  the  enervation,  too,  whatever  that  is." 

Oh,  horrible !  How  could  I  joke  about  a  matter 
of  life  and  death? 

Well,  so  it  went  for  the  two  days  and  in  the 
evenin'  of  the  second  day,  Lot  come  tiptoein'  into 
my  room.  He  was  all  nerved  up.  The  next 
mornin'  was  the  time  he'd  planned  to  go  to  camp- 
meetin' ;  and  how  could  he  go  now  ? 

"  Why  not?  "  says  I.  "  I'll  be  all  right.  Your 
Aunt  Lucindy's  comin'  to  keep  house,  ain't  she?" 

"Yes — yes,  she's  comin'.  But  how  can  I  leave 
Cousin  Lemuel?  He  won't  want  me  to  go,  I'm 
sure." 

"  So'm  I,"  I  says;  "  he'll  kick  as  a  matter  of  prin 
ciple.  But  if  you're  gone  afore  he  knows  it,  he'll 
have  to  like  it  —  or  lump  it,  one  or  t'other.  See 
here,  Lot  Deacon;  you  take  my  advice  and  clear  out 
to-morrow  early,  afore  the  bug-hunter's  nerves  twit- 

125 


THE  POSTMASTER 

ter  loud  enough  to  wake  him.  You  can  get  our 
breakfast  and  leave  it  on  the  table  out  here  in  the 
hall.  I  can  manage  to  hobble  that  far.  Afore  din 
ner  Aunt  Lucindy'll  be  on  deck." 

He  brightened  up  consider'ble.  "  I  might  do 
that,"  he  says.  "  And  anyway  Aunt  Lucindy's  likely 
to  be  here  afore  breakfast.  She's  always  terrible 
prompt.  But  will  Cousin  Lemuel  forgive  me,  do 
you  think?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  I.  "  But  I  will,  provided 
you  don't  say  '  terrible  '  again.  Now  clear  out  and 
don't  let  me  see  you  till  camp-meetin's  over.  And 
say,"  I  called  after  him,  "  just  ask  one  of  your  spirit 
chums  what's  good  for  nerve  twitters." 

Next  mornin'  was  sort  of  dark  and  cloudy,  so 
probably  that  accounts  for  my  oversleepin'.  Any 
how  'twas  after  seven  o'clock  when  Cousin  Lemuel, 
blanket  and  shawl  and  slippers,  full  undress  uni 
form,  comes  flappin'  into  my  room.  I  woke  up  and 
stared  at  him.  He  was  pale,  and  tremblin'  all  over. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  says  I. 

"Hush!"  he  whispers,  fearful.  "Hush!  some- 
thin'  awful  has  happened.  My  cousin  Lot  is 
insane." 

"  What?  "  I  sung  out,  settin'  up  in  bed. 

"Hush!  hush!"  says  he.  "It  is  horrible.  In 
sanity  is  hereditary  in  our  family.  What  shall  we 
do?" 

126 


COUSIN  LEMUEL 

"  Insane  —  rubbish!  "  says  I,  havin'  waked  up  a 
little  more  by  this  time.  "  What  makes  you  think 
he's  insane?  M 

He  held  up  a  shakin'  hand.  "  Listen !  "  he  whis 
pers.  "  He  has  been  makin'  dreadful  noises  for 
the  past  half-hour,  and  singin' —  actually  singin' — 
in  the  strangest  voice.  Listen !  " 

I  listened.  Down  below  in  the  kitchen  there  was 
a  racket  of  pans  and  dishes  and  a  stompin'  as  if  a 
menagerie  elephant  had  broke  loose  from  its  moor- 
in's.  Then  somebody  busts  out  singin',  loud  and 
high: 

"  There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day, 
And  by  faith  we  can  see  it  afar." 

"There,  there!"  says  Lemuel.  "Don't  you 
hear  it?  Would  a  sane  man  sing  like  that?  " 

I  rocked  back  and  forth  in  bed  and  roared  and 
laughed.  "  A  sane  man  wouldn't,"  I  says,  "  but  a 
sane  woman  might,  if  she  had  strong  enough  lungs. 
That  ain't  Lot.  Lot's  gone  to  camp-meetin',  to  be 
gone  till  to-morrow  night.  That's  his  wife's  aunt, 
Lucindy  Hammond,  from  Denboro.  She's  goin'  to 
keep  house  for  us  till  he  gets  back." 


127 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

WELL,  it  took  all  of  fifteen  minutes  for  me 
to  drive  the  idea  out  of  that  critter's  head 
that  his  relative  had  gone  loony.  I  was 
hoppin'  around  on  my  sound  foot  tryin'  to  dress, 
while  I  explained  things.  I  had  enough  clothes  on 
to  be  presentable  in  white  folks'  society,  when  there 
come  a  whoop  up  the  back  stairs. 

"  Good  morn-in' ! "  whoops  Aunt  Lucindy. 
"  Breakfast  is  ready!  Shall  I  fetch  it  up?  " 

"  My  soul !  "  squeals  Cousin  Lemuel,  and  bolts 
for  his  own  room.  I  buttoned  my  collar  by  main 
strength  and  answered  the  hail. 

"All  hands  on  deck!  "  I  sung  out.  "  Fetch  her 
along." 

There  was  a  mighty  stompin'  on  the  stairs,  and 
then  through  the  door  marches  as  big  a  woman  as 
ever  I  see  in  my  born  days.  'Twa'n't  only  that  she 
was  fleshy, —  she  must  have  weighed  all  of  two  hun 
dred  and  thirty, —  but  she  was  big,  big  as  a  small 
mountain,  seemed  so,  and  was  dressed  in  some  sort 
of  curtain-calico  gown  that  made  her  look  bigger 

128 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

yet.  She  was  luggin'  a  tray  heaped  up  with  vittles 
enough  for  a  small  ship's  company. 

"  Good  mornin',"  says  she,  in  a  voice  as  big  as 
the  rest  of  her,  and  as  cheery  as  the  fust  sunshine 
on  a  foggy  day.  She  was  smilin'  all  over,  but  there 
was  a  square  look  to  her  chin  —  the  upper  one,  for 
she  had  no  less  than  two  and  a  half  —  that  made 
me  think  she  could  be  the  other  thing  if  occasion 
called  for.  "  Good  mornin',"  says  she.  "  Is  this 
Lemuel?" 

"  It  ain't,"  says  I.  "  Cousin  Lemuel  is  in  disa 
bility  just  at  present.  My  name's  Snow." 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  hollers  —  every  time  she  spoke 
she  hollered  — "  Oh,  yes  1  Cap'n  Zebulon  Snow,  of 
course.  I'm  Mrs.  Hammond.  Here's  your  break 
fast." 

"  Mine !  "  says  I,  lookin'  at  the  heap  of  rations. 
"  You  mean  mine  and  Cousin  Lemuel's." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't,"  says  she,  still  smilin',  and 
puttin'  the  tray  down  on  the  table,  in  the  way  she 
did  everything,  with  a  bang;  "  I  mean  yours,  Cap'n 
Snow.  Lemuel's  is  all  ready,  though,  and  I'll  fetch 
it  right  up.  I  know  what  men's  appetites  are;  I've 
had  experience." 

Afore  I  could  think  of  an  answer  to  this  she  swept 
out  of  the  door  like  a  toy  typhoon,  the  breeze  from 
her  skirts  settin'  papers  and  light  stuff  flyin',  and 
was  stompin'  down  the  stairs,  singin'  "  Sweet  By  and 

129 


THE  POSTMASTER 

By  "  at  the  top  of  her  lungs.  I  looked  at  the  tray 
and  scratched  my  head.  My  appetite  ain't  a  hum- 
min'-bird's,  by  a  consider'ble  sight,  but  that  breakfast 
would  have  lasted  me  all  day.  As  for  Lemuel, 
about  all  he  did  with  food  was  find  fault  with  it. 
And  just  then  in  he  comes. 

"  What's  that?  "  says  he,  pointin'  to  the  tray. 

"That?"  says  I.  "That's  my  breakfast. 
Yours  is  just  like  it  and  it'll  be  right  up." 

He  fidgeted  with  his  specs  and  bent  over  to  look. 
His  nose  was  anything  but  a  pug,  but  I  give  you 
my  word  you  could  almost  see  it  turn  up. 

"Fried  potatoes!"  he  says;  "and  fried  fish! 
and  fried  eggs !  and  griddle-cakes !  Why  —  why 
it's  all  fried!  Horrible!" 

"Ain't  there  enough?"  I  asks,  sarcastic.  "If 
not,  I  presume  likely  there's  more  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Enough !  "  he  fairly  screamed  it.  "  I  never  take 
anything  but  a  slice  of  very  dry  toast  and  a  cup  of 
tea  in  the  mornin'.  It's  a  principle  of  mine.  And 
I  never  eat  anything  fried !  I  —  I  — " 

"  All  right,"  says  I,  "  you  tell  her  so.  Here  she 
is."  And  afore  he  could  get  out  of  the  door  she 
sailed  through  it,  luggin'  another  tray  loaded  like 
the  fust  one.  She  slammed  it  down  and  turned  to 
the  invalid,  who  was  tryin'  to  hide  his  blanket  dress- 
in'-sack  behind  a  chair. 

"  Here  is  Lemuel !  "  she  hollers.  "  It  is  Lemuel, 
130 


isn't  it?  I'm  50  glad  to  see  you!  I'm  Lucindy, 
Lot's  auntie.  In  a  way  we're  related,  so  we  must 
shake  hands." 

She  reached  over  and  took  his  little  thin  hand 
in  her  big  one  and  gave  it  a  squeeze  that  made  him 
curl  up  like  a  fishin'  worm. 

;'  There !  "  says  she,  "  now  we're  all  acquainted 
and  sociable.  Ain't  that  nice!  You  two  set  right 
down  and  eat.  I'll  trot  up  again  in  a  few  minutes 
to  see  how  you're  gettin'  on.  Sure  you've  got  all 
you  want?  All  right,  then."  Out  she  went,  singin' 
away,  and  Cousin  Lemuel  flopped  down  in  a  chair. 

"  Good  heavens!  "  he  gasps,  working  the  fingers 
Aunt  Lucindy  had  shook,  to  make  sure  they  was  all 
there.  "Good  heavens!"  says  he. 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  I  agree  with  you." 

"  She  calls  me  by  my  Christian  name !  "  he  says, 
pantin',  "  and  I  never  saw  her  before  in  my  life ! 
And  it — it  didn't  seem  to  occur  to  her  that  I  was 
not  fully  dressed.  What  shall  I  do?  " 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  if  you  asked  me  I  should  say 
you  better  make  believe  eat  somethin'.  What  / 
can't  eat  I'm  goin'  to  heave  out  of  the  back  window. 
I'd  ruther  satisfy  that  woman  than  explain  to  her, 
enough  sight." 

But  he  wouldn't  eat,  seemed  to  be  in  a  sort  of 
daze,  as  you  might  say,  and  went  flappin'  back  to 
his  own  room.  I  tackled  the  breakfast. 


THE  POSTMASTER 

It  would  take  a  week  to  tell  you  all  that  hap 
pened  that  forenoon.  My  time's  limited,  so  I'll 
only  tell  a  little  of  it.  When  Aunt  Lucindy  come 
up-stairs  again  and  see  his  tray,  not  a  thing  on  it 
touched,  she  wanted  to  know  why.  I  done  my  best 
to  explain,  tellin'  her  Cousin  Lemuel  was  afflicted 
in  the  nerves,  and  about  his  tea  and  toast,  and  his 
diff'rent  kinds  of  medicines,  and  his  doctors,  and  so 
on,  but  she  wouldn't  listen  to  more'n  half  of  it. 

"  The  poor  thing!  "  she  says,  "  Lot  told  me  some 
about  him.  He's  in  error,  ain't  he.  Horatio,  my 
husband  that  was,  was  in  error,  too,  but  he  died  of 
it.  That  was  afore  I  got  enlightened.  And  you're 
in  error  with  your  foot,  Cap'n  Snow,  so  Lot  says. 
Well,  it's  a  mercy  I'm  here.  The  first  thing  I'll 
do  for  you  is  to  give  you  a  cheerful  thought.  *  All's 
right  in  the  world.'  You  keep  thinkin'  that  this 
forenoon  and  I'll  give  you  another  after  dinner.  I 
must  get  a  thought  for  poor  Lemuel,  but  he  needs 
a  stronger  one.  I'll  have  one  ready  for  him  pretty 
soon.  Now  I  must  do  my  dishes." 

Soon's  she  cleared  out  this  time  I  locked  my  door. 
An  hour  or  so  later  there  was  a  snappish  kind  of 
knock  on  it. 

"  Cap'n  Snow !  I  say,  Cap'n  Snow,"  whispers 
Lemuel,  pretty  average  testy,  "  where  is  my  tea  and 
toast?  Did  you  tell  that  woman  about  my  tea  and 
toast?  I'm  hungry." 

132 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

"  I  told  her,"  says  I.  "  If  you  ain't  got  it,  you 
better  tell  her  yourself." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  see  the  creature,"  he  says. 

"Neither  do  I;  that  is,  I  ain't  partic'lar  about 
it.  And  I  couldn't  hop  down-stairs  if  I  was. 
You'll  have  to  do  your  own  tellin'.  I'm  goin'  to 
read  a  spell." 

My  readin'  didn't  amount  to  much.  He  went 
grumblin'  back  to  his  room,  but  I  judge  his  longi/i' 
for  tea  and  toast  got  the  better  of  his  dread  for  the 
"  creature,"  'cause  pretty  soon  I  heard  him  go  down 
stairs.  Aunt  Lucindy's  singin'  and  dish-clatterin' 
stopped,  and  I  heard  consider'ble  pow-wow  goin' 
on.  Cousin  Lemuel's  voice  kept  gettin'  higher  and 
shriller,  but  Aunt  Lucindy's  was  just  the  same  even 
cheerfulness  all  the  time.  Then  the  ex-insect  man 
comes  up  the  stairs  again.  I  was  curious,  so  I  un 
locked  the  door. 

"  How  was  the  toast?  "  I  asked.  His  usual  pale 
face  was  bright  red  and  he  was  a  heap  more  ener 
getic  than  I'd  ever  seen  him. 

"  She  —  she  —  that  woman's  crazy!  "  he  sputters. 
"  She's  insane;  I  told  her  so.  I  — " 

"Hold  on!"  I  interrupted.  "Did  you  get  the 
toast?" 

"  I  did  not.  She  refused  to  give  it  to  me.  Actu 
ally  refused!  She  —  she  had  that  dreadful  fried 
breakfast  on  the  back  of  the  stove  and  told  me  to 

133 


THE  POSTMASTER 

sit  right  down  and  eat  it  —  like  a  good  fellow.  A 
good  fellow  —  to  me  !  —  as  if  I  was  a  dog !  A  dog, 
by  Jove  !  I  explained  —  in  spite  of  my  just  resent 
ment  I  endeavored  to  reason  with  her.  I  told  her 
the  doctor  had  forbidden  my  eatin'  a  heavy  break 
fast.  I  said  that  my  nerves  were  shattered  and 
so  on.  And  what  do  you  suppose  she  said  to  me? 
She  had  the  brazen  effrontery  to  tell  me  that  I  had 
no  nerves.  Nerves  were  *  errors,'  whatever  that 
means.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  think  that  —  that 
those  fried  outrages  were  all  right  and  they  would 
be.  And  when  I — you'll  admit  I  had  a  good  rea 
son  —  when  I  lost  my  temper  and  expressed  my 
opinion  of  her  she  began  to  sing.  And  she  kept  on 
singin'.  Such  singin' !  Good  heavens !  Horri 
ble  !  " 

'  Then  you  ain't  had  any  breakfast?  " 

"  I  have  not.  But  I  will  have  it !  I  will !  You 
mark  my  words,  I  — " 

He  stopped.  "  The  Sweet  By  and  By "  had 
swung  into  the  lower  entry  and  was  movin'  up  the 
stairs.  I  expected  to  see  Cousin  Lemuel  beat  for 
snug  harbor,  but  no  sir-ee !  he  stayed  right  where 
he  was,  settin'  up  in  his  chair  as  straight  as  a  ram 
rod.  Aunt  Lucindy's  treatment  might  not  be 
workin'  exactly  as  she  intended,  the  patient's  nerves 
might  not  be  any  better,  but  his  nerve  was  improvin' 
fast. 

134 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

In  she  swept,  smilin'  like  clockwork,  as  smooth 
and  as  serene  as  a  flat  calm  in  Ostable  cove.  She 
paid  no  attention  to  the  way  the  little  man  glared 
at  her,  but  turned  to  me  and  says:  ;<  Well,  Cap'n," 
she  says,  "  have  you  cherished  the  thought  I  gave 
you?" 

"  Um-hm,"  says  I,  "  I've  put  it  on  ice.  I  cal'late 
'twill  keep  over  Sunday." 

"  I've  thought  up  one  for  you,  Lemuel,  you  poor 
thing,"  she  says,  turnin'  to  the  insect  chaser.  "  It 
is—" 

"  Woman,"  broke  in  Cousin  Lemuel,  "  I'll  trouble 
you  not  to  call  me  a  poor  thing.  Where  is  my  tea 
and  toast?  " 

She  smiled  at  him,  condescendin'  but  pitiful,  same 
as  a  cow  might  smile  at  a  kitten  that  tried  to  scratch 
it  —  if  a  cow  could  smile. 

"  Your  breakfast  is  on  the  stove,  all  nice  and 
warm,"  she  says.  "  You  don't  really  want  tea  and 
toast;  you  only  think  so.  Cap'n  Snow  will  tell  you 
how  nice  those  fried  potatoes  are,  and  the  codfish 
and—" 

"  Confound  your  codfish,  madam !  I  shall  have 
that  tea  and  toast.  I  —  I  must  have  it.  My  sys 
tem  demands  it." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Oh,  no,  it  doesn't,"  says 
she.  "  It  will  demand  all  the  nice  things  I've  cooked 
for  you  if  you  only  think  so.  Thought  is  all.  Now 

135 


THE  POSTMASTER 

let  me  give  you  your  cheerful  thought  for  the  day. 
It  is  — " 

"Confound  your  thoughts!"  yells  the  nerve 
sufferer,  jumpin'  out  of  his  chair  and  makin'  for  the 
door.  "  I  always  have  tea  and  toast  for  breakfast, 
and  I  intend  to  have  it  now." 

I  hate  a  fuss,  so  I  tried  to  pour  a  little  ile  on  the 
troubled  waters.  "  Now,  Lemuel,"  says  I,  "  don't 
let's  be  stubborn.  You  — " 

He  whirled  on  me  like  a  teetotum.  "  Stubborn !  " 
he  snaps,  "  I  was  never  stubborn  in  my  life.  This 
is  a  matter  of  principle  with  me.  That  woman  shall 
give  me  my  tea  and  toast." 

Aunt  Lucindy  smiled,  same  as  ever.  "  Oh,  no,  I 
sha'n't,"  says  she,  "  it  would  only  encourage  you  in 
your  error  and  that  I  shall  not  permit.  Please  lis 
ten  to  the  thought  I  have  for  you.  It  is  such  a  nice 
one.  '  Be  true  to  your  higher  self  and  ' — " 

"  Madam,"  shrieks  Lemuel,  "  my  thought  about 
you  is  that  you're  an  old  fat  fool !  There !  "  And 
he  rushed  into  the  hall  and  the  next  second  his  door 
slammed  so  it  shook  the  house. 

For  just  one  minute  I  thought  Aunt  Lucindy  was 
goin'  after  him.  Her  smile  stopped,  her  teeth 
snapped  together,  she  took  one  step  towards  the 
door,  and  her  big  hands  opened  and  shut.  But  that 
one  step  was  all  she  took.  When  she  turned  back 
to  me  her  face  was  red,  but  the  smile  had  got  busy 

136 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

once  more.  She  set  down  in  the  cane  rocker  —  it 
cracked,  but  it  held  —  and  says  she : 

"  He's  a  little  mite  antagonistic,  don't  you  think 
so,  Cap'n  Snow?  " 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  I  should  think  you  might  call 
it  that  without  exaggeratin'  much." 

"  Yes,"  says  she,  "  but  I  don't  mind.  There  was 
a  time  when  if  anybody'd  called  me  an  old  fat  fool 
I'd  have  —  well,  never  mind.  I'm  above  such 
things  now.  Nothin'  can  make  me  cross  any  more. 
Not  even  a  sassy  little,  long-nosed  shrimp  like 
.  .  .  Ahem.  Cap'n  Snow,  have  you  read  '  The 
Soarin'  of  Self'?  It's  a  lovely  book,  an  upliftin' 
book." 

I  said  I  hadn't  read  it  and  she  commenced  to  tell 
me  about  it,  repeatin'  it  by  chapters,  so  to  speak.  I 
couldn't  make  much  out  of  it  but  a  whirligig  of 
words,  and  when  she  was  just  beginnin'  I  thought 
I  heard  Lemuel's  door  creak.  However,  I  didn't 
hear  anything  more,  and  she  strung  along  and  strung 
along,  about  "  soul "  and  "  mental  uplift "  and 
"  high  altitude  of  spirit "  and  a  lot  more.  By  and 
by  I  commenced  to  sniff. 

"  Excuse  me,  marm,"  I  says,  "  but  seems  to  me 
I  smell  somethin'  burnin'.  Have  you  got  anything 
on  cookin'  ?  " 

She  sniffed  then.  ""No*,"  says  she,  wonderin'. 
"  I  can't  remember  anything."  Then,  with  another 

137 


THE  POSTMASTER 

sniff,  "  But  seems  as  if  I  smelt  it,  too.  Like  - —  like 
bread  burnin'.  Hey?  You  don't  s'pose — " 

She  put  for  down-stairs.  Next  thing  I  knew  there 
was  the  greatest  hullabaloo  below  decks  that  you 
ever  heard.  Then  up  the  stairs  comes  Cousin  Lem 
uel,  two  steps  at  a  jump,  which,  considerin'  that  his 
usual  gait  had  been  a  crawl,  was  surprisin'  enough 
of  itself.  He  had  a  scorched  slice  of  bread  in  each 
hand  and  he  stopped  on  the  upper  landin'  and  waved 
'em. 

"  I've  got  the  toast,"  he  yells,  triumphant,  "  and 
I'm  goin'  to  have  the  tea."  Then  he  bolts  into  his 
room  and  locked  the  door. 

Up  the  stairs  comes  Aunt  Lucindy.  Her  face 
was  so  red  that  it  looked  as  if  somebody'd  lit  a  fire 
inside  it,  and  her  big  hands  was  shut  tight.  She 
marched  straight  to  that  locked  door  and  hollers 
through  the  keyhole. 

"You  —  you  little,  dried-up  critter!"  she  pants. 
"  LIumph !  I  s'pose  you've  been  sent  to  try  my 
faith,  but  you  sha'n't  shake  it.  No,  sir!  you  nor 
nobody  else  can  shake  it  or  make  me  lose  my  tem 
per.  I'm  perfectly  calm  and  cheerful  this  minute, 
lam!  Ha,  ha!  Ha,  ha  !  " 

"  I  got  my  toast,"  hollers  Cousin  Lemuel  from 
inside.  "  And  I'll  have  my  tea,  in  spite  of  all  the 
New  Thought  cranks  in  this  horrible  hole !  " 

"  Indeed  you  won't.  I  was  prepared  for  a  diffi- 
138 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

cult  case  when  I  came  here.  Cousin  Lot  told  me 
about  your  foolish  '  nerves  '  and  all  the  other  errors 
your  selfishness  has  brought  onto  you.  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  set  you  in  the  right  path  and  I'm  goin' 
to  do  it." 

"  I'll  have  that  tea." 

"  No,  you  sha'n't.  When  folks  are  in  error  I 
never  give  in  to  'em.  That's  my  principle  and  I 
stick  to  it." 

When  she  said  "  principle "  I  pretty  nigh  fell 
over.  If  she'd  got  the  "  principle  "  disease  the  case 
was  desperate.  Anyhow,  I  thought  'twas  about 
time  for  somebody  with  a  teaspoonful  of  common 
sense  to  take  a  hand. 

"  See  here,"  says  I,  "  for  grown-up  folks  this  is 
the  most  ridiculous  doin's  I  ever  heard  of.  Mrs. 
Hammond,  for  the  land  sakes  let  him  have  his  tea 
and  maybe  we'll  have  peace  along  with  it." 

She  turned  to  me.  "  Cap'n  Snow,"  she  says, 
"  speakin'  as  one  who  has  learned  to  rise  above  their 
baser  self,  and  perfectly  calm  and  good-tempered, 
I  advise  you  to  mind  your  own  business.  I  don't 
care  nothin'  about  the  tea  itself;  it's  the  principle 
I'm  strivin'  for,  I  tell  you.  Do  you  s'pose  I'll  let 
that  little  withered-up,  sassy,  benighted  scoffer  — " 

"There!  there!  "  says  I.  Then  I  bent  down  to 
the  keyhole.  "  Lemuel,"  I  says,  "  be  a  man  and  not 
prize  inmate  in  a  feeble-minded  home.  You're  not 

139 


THE  POSTMASTER 

an  idiot.     Apologize  to  this  lady  and,  if  you  can't 
get  tea,  take  hot  water." 

The  answer  I  got  was  hotter  than  any  water  he 
was  likely  to  get,  enough  sight.  And  there  was 
some  "  principle  "  in  it,  too. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  disgusted,  "  I'm  durn  glad  that 
I'm  unprincipled.  Fight  it  out  amongst  yourselves, 
but  don't  you  either  of  you  dare  come  nigh  me.  I 
mean  that."  And  I  went  into  my  room  and  locked 
that  door. 

For  two  hours  I  stayed  there,  readin'  some  and 
thinkin'  a  whole  lot  more.  Down-stairs  Aunt  Lu- 
cindy  was  singin'  at  the  top  of  her  lungs  —  to  show 
how  good  her  temper  was,  I  presume  likely  —  and 
out  in  the  upper  hall  Cousin  Lemuel  was  tiptoein' 
back  and  forth  and  yellin'  at  her  that  he'd  have 
his  tea  in  spite  of  her,  and  passin'  comments  on  her 
music.  I  never  knew  two  such  stubborn  critters  in 
my  life,  and  I  couldn't  see  any  signs  of  either  of  'em 
givin'  in,  long  as  their  principles  held  out. 

I  remembered  a  conundrum  that,  when  I  was  a 
young  one  in  school,  the  teacher  used  to  spring  on 
the  big  boys  in  the  first  class  in  arithmetic.  'Twas 
somethin'  like  this: 

"  If  an  irresistible  force  runs  afoul  of  an  im 
movable  object,  what's  the  result?" 

The  boys  used  to  grin  and  say  they  didn't  know. 
Neither  did  I  —  then;  but  I  was  learnin'  the  answer 

140 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

that  very  minute.  When  an  irresistible  force  meets 
an  immovable  object  it's  a  matter  of  principle,  and 
the  result  is  liable  to  be  'most  anything.  That  was 
the  answer,  and  I  was  learnin'  it  by  observation  and 
experience,  same  as  the  barefooted  boy  learned 
where  the  snappin'-turtle's  mouth  was. 

Now  the  force  and  the  object  was  in  the  same 
house  with  me,  and  the  minute  the  doctor,  or  Jim 
Henry  Jacobs,  or  anybody  else  with  a  horse  and 
team,  come  to  that  house,  they  could  take  me  away 
with  'em.  I'd  contracted  for  quiet  and  rest,  not 
for  a  session  in  Bedlam. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck  and  I  begun  to  think  of 
dinner.  I  hobbled  over  to  my  door,  unlocked  it 
and  looked  out.  Cousin  Lemuel's  door  was  open, 
too,  but  he  wasn't  in  his  room  or  in  the  hall  either. 
I  wondered  where  on  earth  he  could  be.  Next  min 
ute  I  found  out. 

There  was  a  whoop  from  the  kitchen  —  Lemuel's 
voice  and  brimmin'  with  pure  joy.  Then,  some 
where  in  the  same  neighborhood,  began  a  most  tre 
mendous  thumpin'  and  bangin'.  A  "  cast "  horse  in 
a  narrow  stall  was  the  only  sounds  I  ever  heard  that 
compared  with  it.  It  kept  on  and  kept  on,  and 
Lemuel  was  whoopin'  and  hurrahin'  accompani 
ments.  Such  a  racket  you  never  heard  in  your  born 
days. 

Thinks  I,  "  The  critter's  nerves  have  gone  back 
141 


THE  POSTMASTER 

on  him  for  good.  He's  really  crazy  and  he's  killin' 
that  poor  mind-curer  out  of  principle." 

Somehow  or  other  I  hopped  down  them  stairs  on 
my  sound  foot,  draggin'  t'other  after  me.  Through 
the  dinin'-room  I  hobbled  and  into  the  kitchen. 
There  was  a  roarin'  fire  in  the  cookstove  and  in 
front  of  that  stove  was  Cousin  Lemuel  dancin'  round 
with  a  teapot  in  his  hand.  The  cellar  door  opened 
out  of  the  kitchen.  It  was  shut  tight,  and  some 
body  behind  it  was  bangin'  the  panels  till  I  expected 
every  second  to  see  'em  go  by  the  board.  If  they 
hadn't  been  built  in  the  days  when  they  made  things 
solid  they  would  have. 

"What  in  the  world — "  I  commenced.  "You 
—  Lemuel  —  whatever  your  name  is  —  what  are 
you  doin'  ?  " 

He  turned  and  saw  me.  His  bald  head  was  all 
shinin'  with  the  heat,  his  big  round  specs  was  almost 
droppin'  off  the  end  of  his  long  nose,  and  he  sartin 
did  look  like  somethin'  the  cat  brought  in.  - 

"  What  am  I  doin'?  "  he  says.  "  Can't  you  see? 
I'm  gettin'  my  tea,  same  as  I  said  I  would.  Ho ! 
ho!M 

"Where's  Aunt  Lucinda?"  I  sung  out.  "You 
loon,  have  you  killed  her?" 

He  laughed.  "No,  no!"  he  says.  "She  de 
serves  to  be  killed,  but  she's  alive.  She  refused  to 
give  me  my  tea;  she  refused  to  stop  her  horrible 

142 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

singin'.  She  was  utterly  Impossible  and  I  got  rid 
of  her.  I  crept  down  and  watched  until  she  went 
into  the  cellar.  Then  I  closed  the  door  and  locked 
it.  Cap'n  Snow,  I  have  never  been  treated  as  that 
woman  treated  me  in  my  life !  It  was  a  matter  of 
principle  with  me  and  I  was  obliged — " 

He  couldn't  say  any  more  because  the  poundin' 
on  the  door  broke  out  again  louder  than  ever.  I 
headed  for  it  and  he  got  in  front  of  me. 

"  She  is  absolutely  unharmed,  I  assure  you,"  he 
says. 

She  sounded  healthy,  that  was  a  fact.  The  names 
she  called  that  insect-hunter  was  a  caution ! 

"Let  me  out!"  she  kept  hollerin'.  "You  let 
me  out  of  this  cellar,  you  miserable  little  good- 
for-nothin' !  If  I  ever  get  my  hands  on  you  I'll  — " 

"  Ha  !  ha !  "  laughs  Lemuel.  "  I  couldn't  make 
her  lose  her  temper,  could  I?  Oh,  no,  she's  per 
fectly  calm  now !  You're  not  in  the  cellar,  madam," 
he  calls  to  her,  "  you're  in  error.  Thought  can  do^ 
anything;  think  yourself  out." 

I  looked  at  him.  "  Well,"  says  I,  "  for  a  person 
with  twitterin'  nerves,  you  — " 

"  D — n  my  nerves !  "  says  he,  which  was  the  most 
human  remark  he'd  ever  made  in  my  hearin'  and 
proved  that  he  wasn't  beyond  hopes.  "  You  told 
me  that  all  I  needed  was  somethin'  to  keep  me  in 
terested.  Well,  I've  got  it." 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"You  let  me  out!"  whoops  Aunt  Lucindy. 
"  Cap'n  Snow,  if  you're  there,  you  let  me  out !  " 

I  think  maybe  I  would  have  let  her  out,  but  when 
I  heard  what  she  intended  doin'  to  Lemuel  I  thought 
'twas  too  big  a  risk.  I  turned  and  hobbled  through 
the  dinin'-room  to  the  front  outside  door.  And 
there,  just  turnin'  into  the  yard,  was  Jim  Henry 
Jacobs,  with  his  horse  and  buggy.  When  he  saw 
me  he  almost  fell  off  the  seat.  And  maybe  I  wa'n't 
glad  to  see  him! 

"  You  !  "  he  says.     "  You !  walkin'l " 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  and  in  five  minutes  I'd  have 
been  flyin',  I  cal'late.  Don't  stop  to  talk.  Help 
me  into  that  buggy.  .  .  .  There !  drive  home 
as  fast  as  you  can !  " 

"But  what  under  the  canopy  is  the  row?"  he 
says. 

"  Row  enough,"  says  I.  "  I've  been  shut  up 
along  with  an  irresistible  force  and  an  immovable 
object,  and  I  want  to  get  away  from  'em.  Git  dap." 

We  turned  the  horse's  head.  We  had  just  left 
the  yard  when  he  looked  back.  I  looked,  too.  The 
cellar  had  an  outside  entrance,  a  bulkhead  door. 
This  door  was  bendin'  and  heavin'  as  if  an  earth 
quake  was  under  it.  Next  minute  the  staple  flew, 
the  door  slammed  back,  and  Aunt  Lucindy  popped 
out  like  a  jack-iri-the-box.  She  never  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  us,  but  made  for  the  kitchen. 

144 


THE  FORCE  AND  THE  OBJECT 

"  Who  —  what  is  that?  "  gasps  Jacobs. 

"  That,"  says  I,  "  is  the  irresistible  force." 

There  was  a  yell  from  the  kitchen  and  then  out 
of  the  door  flew  Cousin  Lemuel.  He  didn't  stop 
for  us,  either,  but  ran  like  a  lamplighter  to  the  fence, 
fell  over  it,  and  dove  head-fust  into  the  woods. 
After  he  was  away  out  of  sight  we  could  hear  the 
bushes  crackin'. 

"  And  —  and  what''  gasps  Jim  Henry,  "  was 
that?  " 

'  That,"  says  I,  "  was  the  immovable  object. 
Drive  on,  for  mercy  sakes !  " 

Next  day  Lot  came  to  see  me  at  the  Poquit  House. 
He  was  dreadful  upset.  Seems  he  hadn't  stayed 
his  time  out  at  camp-meetin'.  One  of  the  mediums 
or  spooks  or  somethin'  over  there  told  him  there 
was  a  destructive  influence  hoverin'  over  his  house 
and  he'd  hurried  back  to  find  out  about  it. 

"  Humph !  "  says  I.  "  I  should  have  said  it 
had  quit  hoverin'  and  had  lit.  How's  Cousin 
Lemuel?" 

Seems  Cousin  Lemuel  was  at  the  hotel  over  to 
Bayport.  He'd  telephoned  for  his  trunks. 

"  And  he  told  me,"  says  Lot,  wonderin'  like,  "  to 
tell  Aunt  Lucindy  that  he  intended  havin'  tea  and 
toast  three  times  a  day  now,  as  a  matter  of  prin 
ciple.  That's  strange,  isn't  it?" 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Not  to  me  'tain't,"  says  I.  "  And  how's  Aunt 
Lucindy?  " 

"  Aunt  Lucindy's  gone  back  to  Denboro,"  he  says. 
"  And  she  left  word  for  Cousin  Lemuel  that  she 
should  send  him  a  '  thought ' —  whatever  that  is  — 
every  day  by  mail  from  now  on.  And  you'd  ought 
to  have  seen  her  face  when  she  said  it !  But,  Cap'n 
Zeb,  when  are  you  comin'  back  to  board  with  me?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  Lot,"  says  I,  "  I  like  you 
fust-rate,  but  your  relations  are  too  irresistibly  im 
movable.  I'm  goin'  to  keep  clear  of  'em  for  the 
rest  of  my  life  —  as  a  matter  of  principle,"  I  says, 
chucklin'. 


146 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS;  LIKEWISE  BY-PRODUCTS 

YOU  can  imagine  that  Jim  Henry  and  Mary 
had  a  good  deal  of  fun  over  my  experience 
with  Lot  and  his  tribe.  They  joked  me 
about  it  consider'ble.  But  I  didn't  mind.  My  foot 
was  all  right  again,  or  nearly  so,  and  the  extension 
to  the  store  had  been  finished  and  was  workin'  out 
fine.  We  moved  the  mail  room  way  back  and  that 
give  us  lots  of  room  on  the  main  floor,  and  Mary 
had  a  nice  clean  place,  with  plenty  of  air  and  light, 
new  sortin'  table,  new  desks,  and  all  that.  As  for 
business,  we  done  more  that  summer  than  we  had 
previous  and  it  kept  up  surprisin'  well  through  the 
winter.  I  was  happy  and  satisfied  and  Jacobs 
seemed  to  be. 

But  he  wa'n't.  It  took  a  whole  lot  to  satisfy  him 
and,  by  the  time  another  spring  reached  us  and  the 
cottages  begun  to  open  I  could  see  that  he  was  get- 
tin'  fidgety.  One  mornin'  he  come  back  from  a 
cruise  amongst  the  cottagers  —  he  always  handled 
their  trade  himself  —  and  I  could  see  that  he  was 
about  ready  to  bile  over. 

147 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  what's  weighin'  on  your  mind 
now?  Or  is  it  your  stomach?  I'm  willin'  to  bet 
that  I'm  two  pound  heftier  than  I  was  afore  I  ate 
them  hot  biscuits  at  our  boardin'  house  this  mornin' ; 
and  you  got  away  with  three  more'n  I  did.  Has 
your  ballast  shifted,  or  what?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Skipper,"  says  he,  "  we're  ruined  by  foreign 
cheap  labor." 

"  You're  right,"  says  I.  "  I  heard  that  that 
Dutch  cook  used  to  work  in  a  cement  factory,  and 
them  biscuits  prove  it." 

"  Nothin'  doin',"  he  says.  "  My  noon  lunch  for 
two  years  was  *  Draw  one  with  a  plate  of  sinkers ' ; 
and  when  it  comes  to  warm  dough,  I'm  an  immune. 
That  Poquit  House  cook  could  practice  on  me  for 
a  week  and  never  dent  my  nickel-steel  digestion. 
No.  What  I'm  full  of  just  now  is  embroidery." 

I  looked  at  him. 

"  See  here,  Jim  Henry,"  says  I,  "  you've  got  me 
a  mile  offshore  in  a  fog.  Unless  you've  swallowed 
your  napkin,  I  don't  see — " 

"  There !  There !  "  he  interrupted.  "  It's  noth- 
in'  I've  swallowed,  I  tell  you !  It's  somethin'  I've 
seen  that  I  can't  swallow.  I  can't  swallow  those  tan- 
faced,  hook-nosed  lace  peddlers.  It's  only  spring, 
yet  they  are  thicker  round  here  already  than  lumps 
of  saleratus  in  those  biscuit  we've  been  talkin'  about. 

148 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

They're  separatin'  perfectly  good  easy  marks  from 
money  that  belongs  to  us,  and  I'm  gettin'  mad.  My 
Turkish  blood's  risin',  and  there's  likely  to  be  an 
other  Armenian  massacre  in  this  neighborhood  pretty 
soon." 

I  understood  what  he  meant  then.  Every  sum 
mer  for  the  last  year  or  two  the  Cape  has  been 
sufferin'  from  a  plague  of  fellers  peddlin'  handmade 
lace,  and  embroidery,  and  such.  They're  all  shades 
of  color  except  white,  and  they  talk  all  sorts  of  lan 
guages  except  plain  United  States;  but,  no  matter 
what  they  look  like  or  how  they  jabber,  every  last 
one  of  them  claims  to  be  an  Armenian,  and  to  have 
his  hand  satchel  solid  full  of  native-made  tidies,  and 
tablecloths,  and  the  like  of  that.  I  never  run  across 
the  Armenian  flag  on  any  of  my  v'yages,  but  if  it 
ain't  a  doily,  then  it  ought  to  be. 

And  the  prices  they  charge !  Whew !  A  white 
man  would  blush  every  time  he  named  one ;  but  these 
fellers,  bein'  all  complexions,  from  light  tan  Oxford 
to  dark  rubber  boot,  are  born  to  blush  unseen,  and 
can  charge  four  dollars  for  a  crocheted  necktie  and 
never  crack,  spot,  nor  fade. 

Jim  Henry  was  some  on  high  prices  himself;  like 
wise,  he  considered  the  summer  cottagers  and  the 
hotel  folks  as  more  or  less  our  special  property. 
Therefore,  you  can  understand  how  this  Armenian 
competition  riled  and  disturbed  him.  And,  as  it 

149 


THE  POSTMASTER 

turned  out,  that  very  mornin'  he'd  gone  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Burke  Smythe,  who  was  one  of  the  Ostable 
Store's  best  and  most  well-off  customers,  and  found 
her  ankle-deep  in  lamp  mats  and  centerpieces  which 
an  Armenian  specimen  was  diggin'  out  of  a  couple 
of  suit  cases.  And  she'd  told  him  that  she  couldn't 
pay  our  bill  for  another  month  'count  of  havin'  spent 
all  her  "  household  allowance  "  on  the  "  loveliest  set 
of  embroidered  dress  and  waist  patterns  "  and  such 
that  ever  was.  There  was  the  dress  pattern. 
Didn't  he  think  it  was  a  "  dear  "  ? 

Well,  Jim  Henry  give  in  to  the  "  dear  "  part  — 
she'd  paid  sixty-four  dollars  for  it  —  and  come  away 
disgusted.  These  peddlers  was  takin'  the  coin  right 
out  of  our  mouths,  he  vowed.  What  was  we  goin' 
to  do  about  it? 

"  Keep  our  mouths  shut,  I  guess,"  says  I.  "  I 
can't  see  anything  else." 

But  that  wouldn't  do  for  him.  He  went  away 
growlin',  and  for  the  next  couple  of  days  he  hardly 
said  a  word.  I  knew  he  was  hatchin'  some  scheme 
or  other,  and  I  took  care  not  to  scare  him  off  the 
nest.  The  third  mornin',  he  came  off  himself, 
fetchin'  his  brood  with  him. 

"  Skipper,"  says  he,  joyful,  "  I  believe  I've  got  it. 
I  believe  I've  got  the  idea  that'll  put  those  Armeni 
ans  in  the  discard.  You  listen  to  me." 

I  listened,  and  what  he'd  hatched  was  somethin' 
150 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

like  this:  We  —  that  is,  the  "  Ostable  Grocery, 
Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes,  and  Fancy  Goods 
Store  " —  would  sell  embroidery  and  crocheted  plun 
der,  and  run  the  peddlers  out  of  business.  We'd 
open  a  tidy  department  on  our  own  hook.  What 
did  I  think  of  that? 

Well,  I  didn't  think  much  of  it,  and  I  told  him  so. 

"  Don't  believe  we  can  do  it,"  says  I. 

"  Why  not?  "  says  he.  "  We  can  charge  as  much 
as  they  can,  and  that  seems  to  be  the  main  thing." 

"  That  ain't  it,"  I  told  him.  "  We  can't  get  the 
stuff  to  sell.  Plenty  of  machine  made,  but  the  sum 
mer  folks  won't  have  that,  cheap  or  high.  What 
they  wake  up  nights  and  cry  for  is  the  genuine,  hand- 
manufactured  article;  and,  unless  you  buy  it  off  the 
peddlers  themselves  —  which  would  be  unprofitable, 
to  say  the  least  —  /  don't  see  where  you're  goin'  to 
get  it.  Besides,  if  you  could  get  it,  sellin'  it  in  a 
store  wouldn't  do.  'Tain't  romantic  and  foolish 
enough.  Take  this  Burke  Smythe  woman,"  says  I; 
"  she's  a  fair  sample.  She  could  have  got  just  as 
nice,  pretty  dress  patterns  out  of  a  fashion  magazine, 
or—" 

"  Great  snakes  I  "  he  broke  in.  "  You  don't 
think  'twas  a  paper  pattern  she  paid  sixty-four  dol 
lars  for,  do  you?  " 

"  Never  mind  what  'twas,"  I  says,  dignified; 
'  'twould  be  all  the  same,  paper  or  sheet  iron.  She 


THE  POSTMASTER 

wouldn't  care  for  it  at  all  if  she'd  bought  it  in  a 
store.  There's  nothin'  mysterious  or  romantic  in 
that.  But  here  comes  one  of  these  liver-complected, 
black-haired  fellers,  lookin'  for  all  the  world  like  a 
pirate,  and  whispers  in  her  ear  he's  got  somethin' 
in  that  carpetbag  of  his  that  nobody  else  has  got, 
and  that'll  make  Mrs.  General  Jupiter  Jones,  or 
some  other  of  the  Smythe  bosom  friends,  look  like 
a  last  summer's  scarecrow.  And,  as  a  favor  to  her, 
he  ain't  showed  it  to  Mrs.  Jupiter  —  which  is  most 
likely  a  lie,  but  never  mind  —  and  he'll  sell  it  to 
her  at  a  sixty-four-dollar  sacrifice,  because  — " 

"  Hold  on  !  "  he  interrupts.  "  Cut  it  out !  Break 
away!  Don't  you  s'pose  I've  thought  of  that? 
Your  old  Uncle  James  Henry  Jacobs,  doctor  of  sick 
businesses,  wa'n't  born  yesterday  by  about  thirty- 
eight  years.  I  ain't  figgerin'  to  handle  Armenian 
stuff.  See  here,  Skipper.  What  makes  the  summer 
bunch  so  crazy  to  get  hold  of  old  clocks,  and  old 
chains,  and  antique  junk  generally?" 

'  Well,"  says  I,  "  for  one  thing,  'cause  they  are 
antiques.  For  another,  because  they  come  from 
right  here  on  the  Cape,  and  — " 

"  That's  it,"  he  sings  out.  "  And  that's  enough. 
Well,  there's  plenty  of  handmade  embroideries  and 
laces,  not  to  ngention  lamp  mats  and  bed  quilts,  made 
right  here  on  the  Cape,  too.  Last  fall,  the  county 
fair  had  a  buildin'  solid  full  of  'em.  This  is  my 

152 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

plan.  Do  stop  your  Doubtin'  Thomas  act,  and 
listen." 

The  plan  was  sort  of  simple  but  complicated. 
Fust  off,  him  and  me  was  to  see  all  the  old  ladies 
and  young  girls  in  Ostable  and  the  surroundin'  coun 
try,  and  get  'em  to  agree  to  sell  their  hand-made 
knittin'  to  us.  If  they  wouldn't  sell  to  us  direct, 
then  we'd  sell  it  for  them  on  commission.  We'd  fit 
up  a  room  in  the  loft  over  the  store,  advertise  it  as 
the  "  Colonial  Curio  Shop  "  or  the  "  Pilgrim  Moth 
ers'  Exchange,"  or  some  such  ridiculous  or  mys 
terious  name,  stock  it  full  of  the  truck  the  widows 
and  orphans  had  been  knittin'  or  tattin'  all  winter, 
drop  a  hint  to  the  summer  folks  —  and  then  set  back 
and  take  the  money. 

"  It'll  go,  I  tell  you,"  he  says,  enthusiastic.  "  It's 
a  sure  winner.  Just  say  the  word,  Skipper,  and  we'll 
start  fittin'  up  the  loft  to-morrow  mornin'." 

"  Well,"  says  I,  pretty  doubtful,  "  if  you're  so 
sure,  Jim,  I  — " 

"Sure!"  he  broke  in.  "Why  wouldn't  I  be 
sure?  There's  only  one  kind  of  people  that  can  get 
ahead  of  me  in  a  business  deal  —  and  they  don't 
hail  from  Armenia.  Skipper,  here's  where  we  hand 
our  peddlin'  friends  theirs,  and  then  some." 

Next  mornin'  he  took  the  spare  horse  and  started 
out.  When  he  got  back  that  night,  he  had  the  bot 
tom  of  the  wagon  covered  with  bundles  of  knittin' 

153 


THE  POSTMASTER 

and  handmade  contraptions,  and  he  made  proclama 
tions  that  he  hadn't  begun  to  cover  the  available 
territory.  He'd  seen  I  don't  know  how  many  single 
females  and  widows  who  had  the  fancywork  and 
crochetin'  habit;  and  they  sold  him  everything  they 
had  in  stock,  and  promised  more. 

'  They  take  to  it  like  a  duck  to  water,"  says  he, 
joyful.  "  They're  all  down  on  the  peddlers,  and 
they're  goin'  to  pitch  in  and  supply  the  home  market. 
In  another  week  you  can't  pass  two  houses  in  this 
town  without  hearin'  the  merry  click  of  the  needle. 
To-morrow  I  canvass  Denboro  and  Bayport,  and  the 
next  day  I  tackle  Harniss.  By  Monday  we'll  be 
ready  to  fit  up  the  loft." 

And,  sure  enough,  he  was  right.  The  amount 
of  stuff  he  fetched  back  in  that  wagon  was  surprisin'. 
How  the  female  population  of  Ostable  County  could 
have  turned  out  all  that  embroidery  and  found  time 
to  cook  meals  and  sweep,  let  alone  make  calls  and 
talk  about  their  neighbors,  beat  me  a  mile.  But 
when  he  told  me  what  he  paid  for  the  collection  I 
begun  to  understand.  However,  I  didn't  say  nothin'. 
'Twa'n't  until  he  commenced  to  rig  up  the  room  over 
the  store  that  I  spoke  my  thoughts. 

"Why,  Jim  Henry!"  I  says.  "What  are  you 
thinkin'  of?  Puttin'  panelin'  on  those  walls!  And 
paperin'  with  that  expensive  paper!  It  must  have 
cost  land  knows  how  much  a  roll.  And,  for  the 

154 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

dear  land  sakes,  what  are  those  carpenters  cuttin' 
that  hole  in  the  upper  deck  for?  " 

"  For  stairs,  of  course,"  says  he.  '  Think  the 
customers  are  goin'  to  fly  up  there?  Don't  bother 
me,  Skipper,  I'm  busy." 

"Stairs!  "  I  sings  out.  "Why,  there's  stairs  al 
ready.  What's  the  matter  with  the  steps  leadin' 
aloft  from  the  back  room?  We've  used  them  ever 
since  we've  been  here,  and — " 

"  S-shh !  S-shh  !  "  says  he,  resigned  but  impatient. 
"  Cap'n,  your  business  instinct  is  all  right  in  some 
things,  like  —  like  —  well,  I  can't  think  what  just 
now,  but  never  mind.  You're  a  good  feller,  but 
you're  too  apt  to  cal'late  by  last  year's  almanac. 
You  ain't  as  up  to  date  as  you  might  be.  Do  you 
suppose  Her  Majesty  Burke  Smythe,  and  the  rest 
of  the  Royal  Family  we're  settin'  this  trap  for,  will 
take  the  trouble  to  hunt  up  that  back  room,  and 
fall  over  egg  cases  and  kerosene  barrels  to  find  the 
ladder  to  that  loft?  And  climb  the  ladder  after  they 
find  it?  No,  no!  We'll  have  a  flight  of  stairs  right 
from  the  main  part  of  this  store,  where  they  can't 
help  seein'  'em.  And  there'll  be  old-fashioned  rag 
mats  on  the  landin's,  and  brass  candlesticks  with  can 
dles  in  'em  at  night,  and  — " 

"Candles!"  says  I.  "Well;  that  is  the  final 
piece  of  lunacy !  Why,  I  could  light  those  stairs  like 
a  glory  with  kerosene  lamps  while  a  body  was  tryin' 

155 


THE  POSTMASTER 

to  get  sight  of  'em  with  a  candle !  I  never  heard 
such  nonsense." 

But  'twas  no  use.  What  we  must  do  was  make 
that  loft  "  quaint,"  and  old-fashioned,  and  the  like 
of  that.  I  didn't  understand  —  and  so  on. 

"All  right,"  says  I,  "maybe  I  don't;  but  I  do 
understand  this:  Judgin'  by  the  amount  of  hard 
cash  you've  spent  for  lace  tuckers  and  doilies,  and 
the  bill  them  stairs  and  panelin's  and  candlesticks'll 
come  to,  I  don't  see  a  profit  on  the  Pilgrim  Curio 
Mothers'  Exchange  in  ten  year  big  enough  to  cover 
a  five-cent  piece." 

He'd  risk  the  profit.  Besides,  there  was  another 
reason  for  the  stairs,  and  such.  To  get  to  'em  all, 
the  rich  folks  would  have  to  go  right  through  the 
store;  and  if  they  didn't  buy  anything  upstairs  they 
would  down,  sure  and  sartin.  He  was  figgerin'  on 
catchin'  the  transient  trade,  the  automobile  trade; 
and  all  around  the  foot  of  the  stairs  we'd  have 
temptin'  lunches  put  up  and  set  out,  and  bottles  of 
ginger  ale  and  boxes  of  cigars,  and  so  forth,  and  so 
on.  He  preached  for  half  an  hour,  windin'  up  with : 

"  Anyhow,  Skipper,  if  the  curio  shop  should  lose 
money  —  which  it  won't  —  it  will  bring  customers 
to  the  Ostable  Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes, 
and  Fancy  Goods  Store,  which  is  the  main  thing; 
that  and  keepin'  the  coin  in  the  United  States  instead 
of  shippin'  it  to  Armenia.  The  embroideries  and 

156 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

laces  are  by-products,  as  you  might  say;  and  if  a 
plant  comes  out  even  on  its  by-products,  it's  a  payin' 
proposition." 

He  had  me  there.  I  didn't  know  a  by-product 
from  a  salt  herrin' ;  so  I  shut  up. 

The  "  Old  Colony  Women's  Exchange  and  Curio 
Room,"  which  was  the  name  he  finally  picked  out, 
opened  at  the  end  of  a  fortni't.  Jacobs  had  adver 
tised  it  in  the  papers,  and  put  signs  for  miles  up  and 
down  the  main  roads,  let  alone  tellin'  every  well-off 
summer  woman  within  reachin'  distance.  And,  al 
most  from  the  very  start,  it  done  well.  The  loft 
was  crowded  'most  every  afternoon;  and  sometimes 
there'd  be  as  many  as  three  automobiles  anchored 
alongside  our  main  platform. 

At  the  end  of  the  fust  month,  the  Exchange  had 
cleared  —  cleared,  mind  you  —  over  two  hundred 
dollars;  and  Jim  Henry  was  crowin'  over  me  like  a 
Shanghai  rooster  over  a  bantam.  He'd  had  another 
happy  thought,  and  had  added  "  antiques  "  to  the 
stock  in  the  loft;  and  the  prices  he  got  for  lame 
chairs  and  rheumatic  tables  was  somethin'  scandalous. 
But  it  wa'n't  all  joy.  There  was  two  things  that 
troubled  him. 

One  of  the  things  was  that  the  supply  of  knittin' 
and  fancywork  was  givin'  out.  Likewise  the  "  an 
tiques."  Of  course,  there  was  some  on  hand.  Aunt 
Susannah  Cahoon's  yeller  and  black  mittens,  ear  lap- 

157 


THE  POSTMASTER 

pets,  and  tippets  hadn't  sold,  and  wa'n't  likely  to; 
and  Abinadab  Saint's  alabaster  whale-oil  lamp  with 
the  crack  in  it,  that  his  Great-uncle  Peleg  brought 
home  from  sea,  hadn't  been  grabbed  to  any  extent. 
But  these  were  the  exceptions.  'Most  all  the  good 
stuff  had  gone;  and,  though  Jacobs  had  raked  the 
county  with  a  fine-tooth  comb,  as  you  might  say,  the 
reg'lar  dealers  from  Boston  had  raked  it  ahead  of 
him,  and  there  wa'n't  any  "  antiques  "  left. 

There  was  several  reasons  for  the  shortage  in 
fancywork.  One  was  that  the  knitters  and  tatters 
couldn't  turn  it  out  fast  enough;  and,  moreover, 
the  season  for  church  fairs  was  settin'  in,  and  the 
heft  of  the  females,  bein'  reg'lar  members  in  good 
standin',  had  to  tack  ship  and  go  to  helpin'  their 
meetin'-houses.  So  our  stock  was  gettin'  low,  and 
Jim  Henry  was  worried. 

The  other  thing  that  worried  him  was  that  we 
couldn't  get  the  right  kind  of  help  to  sell  the  stuff. 
He  couldn't  tend  to  it  himself,  bein'  too  busy  other 
wise.  Mary  had  the  post-office  department  on  her 
hands.  The  clerk  and  the  delivery  boys  wa'n't  fitted 
for  the  job  at  all;  and,  as  for  me,  I  couldn't  sell  a 
blue  sugar  bowl  without  a  cover  for  seven  dollars 
and  take  the  money.  I  knew  the  one  that  bought 
it  was  perfectly  satisfied,  but  I  couldn't  do  it;  I  ain't 
built  that  way. 

"  It's  no  use,  Jim  Henry,"  says  I.  "  I  may  be 
158 


foolish,  but  I  have  ideas  about  some  things;  and  it's 
my  notion  that  sartin  kinds  of  folks  are  fitted  by 
nature  for  sartin  kinds  of  things.  Now,  Cape  Cod- 
ders  they're  fitted  for  seafarin',  and  such;  and  New 
Yorkers  and  Chicagoers,  like  you,  are  fitted  for  stock- 
brokin'  and  storekeepin' ;  and  Italians  for  hand  or 
gans,  and  diggin'  streets,  and  singin'  in  opera.  And 
when  it  comes  to  sellin'  secondhand  stuff  or  keepin' 
a  pawnshop,  there's — " 

"Rubbish!"  he  snaps.  "A  while  ago,  you'd 
have  said  that  the  embroidery  trade  was  cornered 
by  the  Armenians.  We've  proved  that's  a  fairy  tale, 
ain't  we?  I've  got  some  ideas  myself.  I  know  the 
kind  of  person  I  want  to  run  that  Exchange,  and, 
sooner  or  later,  I'll  find  him  —  or  her.  Meantime, 
we'll  have  to  do  the  best  we  can;  and  I'll  take  it  as 
a  favor  if  you'll  let  up  on  the  hammer  exercise." 

I  wa'n't  sure  what  he  meant  by  the  "  hammer 
exercise";  but  'twas  plain  enough  that  them  "by 
products  "  was  a  sore  subject,  and  that  he  was  wor 
ried. 

However,  he  wa'n't  the  only  worried  lace  dealer 
in  the  neighborhood.  The  Old  Colony  Exchange 
had  made  good  in  one  direction,  anyhow.  It  had 
knocked  the  embroidery  peddlin'  business  higher'n  a 
kite.  Where  there  used  to  be  a  dozen  suit-case 
luggers  paradin'  through  the  town,  now  you  scarcely 
sighted  one;  and  that  one  looked  pretty  sick  and  dis- 

159 


THE  POSTMASTER 

couraged.  The  home  market  had  smashed  foreign 
competition  for  the  time  bein' ;  that  much  was  pretty 
sure.  But  our  stock  kept  gettin'  lower  and  lower, 
and  the  auto  crowds  begun  to  go  by  now  instead  of 
stoppin'.  And  the  few  that  did  stop  hardly  ever 
bought  anything  unless  Jim  Henry  himself  was  there 
to  hypnotize  'em  into  it. 

One  mornin'  I  came  to  the  store  pretty  late,  and 
found  our  clerk  talkin'  to  a  dark-complected  chap 
with  curly  hair  and  a  suit  case.  I  didn't  shove  my 
bows  into  the  talk;  but,  when  'twas  over,  I  asked 
the  clerk  what  the  critter  wanted.  He  laughed. 

"  Oh,  he's  the  last  survivor  of  the  peddlin'  crew," 
he  says.  "  He  ain't  sold  a  thing,  and  he's  goin' 
back  to  Boston  right  off.  I  told  him  he  might  as 
well.  He  asked  a  lot  of  questions  about  the  Ex 
change,  and  I  took  him  upstairs  and  showed  him 
around." 

"  You  did  ?  "  says  I.     "  What  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  to  let  him  see  what  he  was  up  against, 
that's  all.  He  was  a  pretty  decent  feller  —  some 
of  them  Armenians  ain't  so  bad  —  and  I  pitied  him. 
He  was  awful  discouraged.  He'd  heard  Mr. 
Jacobs  had  been  tryin'  to  hire  a  salesman  for  up 
there;  and  he  hinted  that  he'd  kind  of  like  the 
job." 

"Did,  hey?"  says  I.  "Well,  it's  a  good  thing 
for  you  and  him  that  Mr.  Jacobs  didn't  catch  you. 

1 60 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

He'd  sooner  have  a  snake  on  the  premises  than  one 
of  them  peddlers.  What  else  did  he  say?  Any 
thing?" 

Why,  yes.  It  developed  that  he'd  said  a  good 
deal.  Asked  where  we  got  our  stuff,  and  so  on.  I 
judged  'twas  a  providence  that  I  come  in  when  I 
did,  or  that  clerk  would  have  told  every  last  word 
he  knew.  I  didn't  say  anything  to  Jim  Henry.  No 
use  frettin'  him  unnecessary. 

Three  days  after  that  the  Injun  showred  up.  I 
don't  know  as  you  know  it,  but  there  are  a  few 
Injuns  left  on  the  Cape  —  half-breeds,  or  three- 
quarters,  they  are  mostly;  and  they  live  up  around 
Cohasset  Narrows,  or  off  in  the  woods  in  those  lati 
tudes.  This  one  was  an  old  feller,  black-haired,  of 
course,  and  kind  of  fleshy,  with  a  hook  nose  and  skin 
the  color  of  gingerbread.  I  heard  talk  upstairs  in 
the  Exchange;  and,  when  I  went  aloft,  I  found  him 
and  Jim  Henry  settin'  among  the  by-products,  and 
as  confidential  as  a  couple  of  rats  in  a  schooner's 
hold.  Soon  as  Jacobs  seen  me,  he  sung  out  for  me 
to  heave  alongside. 

"  Look  at  that,  Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  says.  "  What  do 
you  think  of  that?  " 

I  took  what  he  handed  me,  and  looked  at  it. 
'Twas  a  piece  of  handmade  lace  —  a  centerpiece,  I 
believe  they  call  it  —  and  'twas  mighty  well  done. 

"  Think  of  it?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  I  ain't  much  of 
161 


THE  POSTMASTER 

a  judge,  but  I'd  call  it  a  pretty  slick  article.  Who 
made  it?" 

The  old  black-haired  chap  answered. 

"  My  sister,"  he  says.  "  She  make  'em.  Make 
'em  plenty." 

"  Bully  for  her!  "  says  I.  "  She's  the  lady  we've 
been  lookin'  for.  Maybe  she  make  some  more; 
hey?" 

He  grinned;  and  Jacobs  mentioned  for  me  to 
clear  out;  so  I  done  it.  He  and  old  Gingerbread 
Face  stayed  aloft  in  that  Exchange  for  upward  of 
an  hour;  and,  when  they  came  down,  Jim  Henry 
went  with  him  as  fur  as  the  door.  When  the 
stranger  had  gone,  Jim  turns  to  me  and  stuck  out 
his  hand. 

"  Skipper,"  says  he,  grinnin'  like  a  punkin  lantern, 
"shake!  I've  got  it." 

;'  What  have  you  got?  "  I  asked.  I  was  a  little 
mite  provoked  at  bein'  sent  below  so  unceremonious. 
;<  What  have  you  got  —  Asiatic  cholery?  Thought 
you  wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  Armenians." 

"  Armenians  be  hanged!  "  says  he.  "  That's  no 
Armenian.  He's  an  Indian,  a  full-blooded  Indian, 
or  pretty  near  it.  And  his  family  is  about  the  only 
full-bloods  left.  There's  a  colony  of  them  up  the 
Cape  a  ways;  and  it  seems  that  they  pick  berries  in 
the  summer,  and  put  in  their  winters  turnin'  out 
stuff  like  that  centerpiece.  He  heard  about  the  Ex- 

162 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

change,  and  he's  come  way  down  here  to  see  if  we 
bought  such  things.  I  told  him  we  bought  'em  with 
bells  on,  and  he'll  be  back  here  to-morrow  with  an 
other  load." 

Sure  enough,  he  was,  load  and  all;  and  'twould 
have  astonished  you  to  see  what  fust-class  fancywork 
his  sister  and  the  rest  of  the  squaws  turned  out. 
Jacobs  bought  the  whole  lot,  and  ordered  more;  said 
he'd  take  all  the  tribe  could  scare  up;  and  old  Gin 
gerbread —  his  American  name,  so  he  said,  was 
Rose,  Solomon  Rose  —  went  away  happy.  When 
I  found  what  Jim  Henry  had  paid  him  for  the 
plunder,  I  didn't  blame  Rose  for  bein'  joyful. 

But  Jacobs  didn't  care.  He  was  all  excitement 
and  hurrah  again.  He  had  a  new  addition  made 
to  the  Exchange  sign.  'Twas  "  The  Old  Colony 
Women's  Exchange,  Curio  Room,  and  Indian  Ex 
hibit  "  now;  and  inside  of  two  days  the  Burke 
Smythes  and  their  friends  was  callin'  reg'lar,  the 
auto  parties  was  rollin'  up  to  the  door,  and  the  money 
was  rollin'  in.  Injun  embroidery  was  somethin' 
new;  and  the  summer  gang  snapped  at  it  like  bull 
frogs  at  a  red  rag. 

Then  that  partner  of  mine  was  seized  violent  with 
another  rush  of  ideas  to  the  head.  I'm  blessed  if 
he  didn't  hire  old  Rose  —  the  "Last  of  the  Mo 
hicans,"  he  called  him,  among  other  ridiculous  and 
outlandish  names  —  to  spend  his  days  in  that  Injun 

163 


THE  POSTMASTER 

Exchange  loft.  Paid  him  ten  dollars  a  week,  he 
did,  just  to  set  there  and  look  the  part.  'Twas 
a  sinful  waste  of  money,  'cordin'  to  my  notion;  but 
Jim  Henry  shut  me  up  like  a  huntin'-case  watch  — 
with  a  snap. 

'  Who  said  he  could  sell?  "  he  wanted  to  know. 
"  I  didn't,  did  I  ?  I  don't  know  that  he  can't  —  he's 
shrewd  enough  when  it  comes  to  sellin'  us  the  stuff 
he  brings  with  him;  but  if  he  don't  sell  a  fifty-cent 
article  — " 

'  Which  he  won't,"  I  interrupted;  "  for  there's 
nothin'  less  than  two-seventy-five  in  the  robbers'  den, 
and  you  know  it.  How  you  have  the  face  to 
charge  — " 

''  Will  you  be  quiet?  "  he  wanted  to  know.  "  As 
I  say,  whether  he  sells  or  not,  he's  wuth  his  wages 
twice  over.  Can't  you  understand?  Just  oblige  me 
by  rubbin'  your  brains  with  scourin'  soap  or  some- 
thin',  and  try  to  understand.  All  the  auto  bunch 
ain't  lambs;  some  of  them  —  the  males  especially  — 
are  a  fairly  cagey  collection;  and  there's  been  doubts 
expressed  concernin'  the  genuineness  of  our  Injun 
exhibit.  But  with  old  Uncas  —  with  the  Last  of  the 
Mohicans  himself  right  on  deck  as  a  livin'  guarantee, 
why,  we  could  sell  clam-shells  as  small  change  from 
Sittin'  Bull's  wampum  belt,  and  never  raise  a  sacri 
legious  question  even  from  a  Unitarian  freethinker. 
It's  a  cinch." 

164 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

"  See  here,  Jim  Henry,"  says  I,  "  if  this  thing's 
a  fraud,  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  Neither  will  I,"  says  he,  emphatic.  "  Frauds 
don't  pay,  not  in  the  long  run.  But  grandmother's 
genuine  antiques  and  the  A-number-one,  Simon-pure 
embroideries  of  the  noble  red  man  —  or  woman  — 
pay,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

They  did  pay;  and  old  Mohican  himself  was  a 
payin'  investment,  too,  in  spite  of  my  doubts  and 
Jeremiah  prophesyin'.  He  made  a  ten-strike  with 
every  female  that  hit  that  loft.  They  said  he  was 
so  "  quaint,"  and  "  odd,"  and  "  pathetic."  Mrs. 
Burke  Smythe  vowed  there  was  somethin'  "  big  "  and 
"  great "  about  him  —  meanin'  his  nose  or  his  boots, 
I  presume  likely  —  and,  somehow  or  other,  though 
he  didn't  look  like  a  salesman,  he  sold.  And  every 
week  or  so  he'd  take  a  day  off  and  go  back  home, 
to  return  with  a  fresh  supply  of  tidies,  and  lace,  and 
gimcracks.  I  changed  my  mind  about  Injuns.  I 
see  right  off  that  all  the  yarns  I'd  read  about  'em 
was  lies.  They  didn't  murder  nor  scalp  their  ene 
mies  —  they  smothered  'em  with  lamp  mats. 

And  'twa'n't  fancywork  alone  that  the  Rose  critter 
fetched  back  from  these  home  v'yages  of  his.  He 
struck  an  "  antique  "  vein  somewheres  in  the  reserva 
tion;  and  not  a  week  went  by  that  he  didn't  resurrect 
an  old  bedstead  or  a  table  or  a  spinnin'  wheel  or 
somethin',  and  fetched  'em  down  in  an  old  wagon 

165 


THE  POSTMASTER 

towed  by  an  old  white  horse.  The  "  children  of  the 
forest  " — which  was  another  of  Jim  Henry's  names 
for  the  Injuns  and  half-breeds  —  didn't  give  up 
these  things  for  nothin' ;  far  from  it.  We  had  to 
pay  as  much  as  if  they  was  made  of  solid  silver; 
but  we  sold  'em  at  gold  prices,  so  that  part  was  all 
right. 

And  every  other  day  Jacobs  would  ask  me  what 
I  thought  of  "  by-products  "  now.  As  for  Arme 
nian  competition,  it  was  dead.  There  wa'n't  any. 

Well,  three  more  weeks  drifted  along,  and  the 
summer  season  was  'most  over.  Then,  one  Tues 
day  mornin',  old  Rose,  the  Mohican,  didn't  show 
up.  He'd  gone  away  on  Friday  cal'latin'  to  be  back 
Monday  with  a  fresh  lot  of  "  antiques  "  and  center 
pieces;  but  he  wa'n't.  And  Tuesday  and  Wednes 
day  passed,  and  he  didn't  come.  Jim  Henry  was 
awful  worried.  We  needed  more  stock,  and  we 
needed  our  Injun  curio;  and  nothin'  would  do  but  I 
must  turn  myself  into  a  relief  expedition  and  hunt 
him  up. 

"  Somethin's  happened,  sure,"  says  Jacobs. 
"  He's  never  missed  his  time  afore.  Those  fellers 
pride  themselves  on  keepin'  their  word  —  you  read 
Cooper,  if  you  don't  believe  it  —  and  he's  sick  or 
dead;  one  or  the  other." 

"  Dead  nothin' !  "  says  I.  "  He's  too  tough  to 
kill,  and  nothin'  would  make  him  sick  but  soap  and 

1 66 


ARMENIANS  AND  INJUNS 

water,  which  ain't  one  of  his  bad  habits  by  a  con- 
sider'ble  sight.  However,  if  it'll  make  you  any 
easier,  I'll  take  the  mornin'  train  and  locate  him  if 
I  can." 

"  Go  ahead,"  says  he.  "  I'd  do  it  myself,  but  I 
can't  leave  just  now.  Go  ahead,  Skipper,  and  don't 
come  back  till  you've  got  him,  or  found  out  why  he 
isn't  on  hand." 

So  I  took  the  mornin'  train  and  set  out  to  locate 
the  noble  red  man. 


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CHAPTER  IX 

ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

UT  locatin'  him  wa'n't  such  an  easy  matter. 
All  we  knew  was  he  lived  somewheres  in 
Wampaquoit,  and  Wampaquoit  is  ten  miles 
from  nowhere,  in  the  woods  up  around  Cohasset 
Narrows.  I  got  off  the  train  at  the  Narrows  de 
pot,  and,  after  considerable  cruisin'  and  bargaining 
I  hired  a  horse  and  buggy,  and  started  to  drive  over. 
I  lost  my  way  and  got  onto  a  wood  road.  Don't 
ask  me  about  that  road.  I  don't  want  to  talk  about 
it.  I'd  been  on  salt  water  for  a  good  many  years, 
and  I'd  seen  some  rough  goin',  but  rockin'  and 
bouncin'  over  that  wood  road  come  nigher  to  makin' 
me  seasick  than  any  of  my  Grand  Banks  trips.  Nar 
row!  And  grown  over!  My  land!  I  had  to 
stoop  to  keep  from  bein'  scraped  off  the  seat;  and, 
whenever  I'd  straighten  up  to  ease  my  back,  a  pine 
branch  would  fetch  me  a  slap  in  the  face  that  you 
could  hear  half  a  mile. 

As  for  my  language,  you  could  hear  that  two 
miles.  That  road  ruined  my  moral  reputation,  I'm 
afraid.  They  had  a  revival  meetin'  in  the  Narrows 

168 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

meetin'-house  the  follerin'  week,  but  whether  'twas 
on  my  account  or  not  I  don't  know. 

However,  I  made  port  after  a  spell  —  that  is,  I 
run  afoul  of  a  house  and  lot  in  a  clearin'  sort  of; 
and  I  asked  a  black-lookin'  male  critter,  who  was 
asleep  under  a  tree,  how  to  get  to  Wampaquoit.  He 
riz  upon  one  elbow,  brushed  the  mosquitoes  away 
from  his  mouth,  and  made  answer  that  'twas  Wam 
paquoit  I  was  in. 

"  But  the  town?  "  says  I.     "  Where's  the  town?  " 

Well,  it  appeared  that  this  was  the  town,  or  part  of 
it.  The  rest  was  scattered  along  through  the  next 
three  or  four  mile  of  wilderness.  Where  was  the 
center?  Oh,  there  wa'n't  any.  There  was  a  school- 
house  and  a  meetin'-house,  and  a  blacksmith's,  and 
such,  on  the  main  road  up  a  piece,  that  was  all. 

"But  where  do  the  Injuns  live?"  I  wanted  to 
know.  '  The  knittin'  women,  the  Lamp  Mat 
Trust  —  where  does  it  —  she  —  they,  I  mean, 
live?" 

He  couldn't  seem  to  make  much  out  of  this;  and 
by  and  by  he  went  into  the  house  and  fetched  out  his 
wife.  She  was  about  as  black  as  he  was;  and  I 
cal'lated  they  was  a  Portygee  family;  but,  no,  lo  and 
behold  you,  it  turned  out  they  was  Injuns  themselves ! 
But  they  never  heard  of  anybody  named  Rose,  nor 
of  anybody  that  knit  centerpieces,  nor  of  an  "  an 
tique,"  nor  anything.  I  give  it  up  pretty  soon,  for 

169 


THE  POSTMASTER 

my  temper  was  beginnin'  to  heat  up  the  surroundin' 
air,  and  the  mosquitoes  seemed  to  think  I  was  "  Old 
Home  Week,"  and  come  for  miles  around  and 
brought  their  relations.  I  give  up  and  drove  away 
over  a  fairly  decent  road  this  time,  till  I  found  an 
other  house.  But  this  was  just  the  same;  Injuns  in 
plenty  — 'most  everybody  was  part  Injun  —  but  no 
body  had  heard  of  our  special  Mohican  nor  of  an 
"  antique."  And,  which  was  queerer  still,  they 
never  heard  of  anybody  around  that  done  knittin' 
or  crochetin'  or  lace  makin',  or  had  sold  any,  if  they 
did  do  it.  And  they  didn't  any  of  'em  talk  story 
book  Injun  dialect,  same  as  Uncas  did.  They  used 
pretty  fair  United  States. 

Well,  to  bile  this  yarn  of  mine  down,  I  rode 
through  those  woods  and  around  the  settlement 
most  of  that  afternoon.  Then  I  was  ready  to  give 
up,  and  so  was  my  old  livery-stable  horse.  He'd 
gone  dead  lame,  and  'twould  have  been  a  sin  and  a 
shame  to  make  him  walk  a  step  farther.  I  took 
him  to  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and  left  him  there.  I 
pounded  mosquitoes,  and  asked  the  blacksmith  some 
questions,  and  he  pounded  iron  and  wanted  to  ask 
me  a  million;  but  neither  of  us  got  a  heap  of  satis 
faction  out  of  the  duet. 

Two  things  seemed  to  be  sure  and  sartin.  One 
was  that  Solomon  Uncas  Rose,  the  "  child  of  the 
forest  "  and  chief  of  the  tattin'  tribe,  was  mistook 

170 


ROSES  —  BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

when  he  give  Wampaquoit  as  his  home  town;  and 
t'other  that,  much  as  I  wanted  to,  I  couldn't  get 
out  of  that  town  until  evenin'.  My  horse  wa'n't  fit 
to  travel,  and  I  couldn't  hire  another,  not  until  after 
the  blacksmith  had  had  his  supper.  Then  he'd 
hitch  up  and  drive  me  back  to  the  Narrows. 

But  luck  was  with  me  for  once.  Up  the  road 
came  bumpin'  a  nice-lookin'  mare  and  runabout 
wagon,  with  a  pleasant-faced,  gray-haired  man  on 
the  seat.  The  mare  pulled  up  at  the  blacksmith's 
house,  and  the  man  got  down  and  went  inside. 

"Who's  that?"  says  I.  "And  what's  he  done 
to  be  sentenced  to  this  place?  " 

"  Doctor,"  says  the  blacksmith,  with  a  grunt  — 
he  was  one-quarter  Injun,  too.  "  Comes  from  West 
Ostable.  My  wife's  sick." 

"  I  sympathize  with  her,"  says  I.  "  I'm  sick, 
too  —  homesick.  Maybe  this  doctor'll  help  me 
out.  What  I  need  is  a  change  of  scene;  and  I  need 
it  bad." 

So,  when  the  doctor  come  out  of  the  house,  I 
hailed  him,  and  asked  him  if  he'd  do  a  kindness  to  a 
shipwrecked  mariner  stranded  on  a  lee  shore. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  says  he,  laughin'. 

"  Matter  enough,"  I  told  him.  "  I  want  to  go 
home.  Besides,  a  merciful  man  is  merciful  to  the 
beasts;  and  if  I  stay  here  much  longer  these  mos- 
quitoes'll  die  of  rush  of  my  blood  to  their  heads. 

171 


THE  POSTMASTER 

I  understand  you  come  from  West  Ostable,  Doctor: 
but  if  'twas  Jericho  'twould  be  all  the  same.  I 
want  you  to  let  me  ride  there  with  you.  And  you 
can  charge  anything  you  want  to." 

That  doctor  was  a  fine  feller.  He  laughed  some 
more,  and  told  me  to  jump  right  in.  Said  he'd  got 
to  see  one  more  patient  on  his  way  back;  but,  if  I 
didn't  mind  that  stop,  he'd  be  glad  of  my  company. 
So  I  told  the  blacksmith  to  keep  my  horse  and  buggy 
overnight,  and  when  I  got  to  West  Ostable  I'd 
telephone  for  the  livery  folks  to  send  for  'em. 
Then  I  got  into  the  doctor's  runabout,  and  off  we 
drove. 

We  did  consider'ble  talkin'  durin'  the  drive;  but 
'twas  all  general,  and  nothin'  definite  on  my  part. 
'Course,  he  was  curious  to  know  what  I  was  doin' 
'way  over  there;  but  I  said  I  come  on  business,  and 
let  it  go  at  that.  I  was  beginnin'  to  have  some 
suspicions,  and  I  cal'lated  not  to  be  laughed  at  if  I 
could  help  it.  So  we  drove  and  drove;  and,  by  and 
by,  when  I  judged  we  must  be  pretty  nigh  to  West 
Ostable,  he  turned  the  horse  into  a  side  road,  and 
brought  him  to  anchor  alongside  of  an  old  ram 
shackle  house,  with  a  tumble-down  barn  and  out- 
buildin's  astern  of  it. 

"  Now,  Cap'n,"  he  says,  "  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to 
wait  a  few  minutes  while  I  see  that  last  patient  of 
mine.  'Twon't  take  long." 

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ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

"Patient?"  says  I.  "Good  land!  Does  any 
body  live  in  this  fag  end  of  nothin'ness?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  'Twas  empty  for  years,  but 
now  a  couple  of  fellers  live  here  all  by  themselves. 
Foreigners  of  some  kind  they  are.  Been  here  for 
a  month  or  more.  One  of  'em  let  a  packin'  case 
fall  on  his  foot,  and  — " 

"  I  sympathize  with  him,"  says  I.  "  The  same 
thing  happened  to  me  a  spell  ago.  But  a  packin' 
case !  Cranberry  crate,  you  mean,  I  guess." 

"  Maybe  so,"  he  says.  "  I  didn't  ask.  But 
'twas  somethin'  heavy,  anyhow.  Nobody  seems  to 
know  much  about  these  chaps  or  what  they  do. 
Well,  be  as  comfort'ble  as  you  can.  I'll  be  back 
soon." 

He  took  his  medicine  satchel  and  went  into  the 
house.  Soon's  he  was  out  of  sight,  I  climbed  out 
of  the  buggy  and  started  explorin'.  I  was  curious. 

I  wandered  around  back  of  the  house.  Such  a 
slapjack  place  you  never  see  in  your  life !  Windows 
plugged  with  papers  and  old  rags,  shingles  off  the 
roof,  chimneys  shy  of  bricks  — 'twas  a  miracle  it 
didn't  blow  down  long  ago.  Whoever  the  tenants 
was,  they  was  only  temporary,  I  judged,  and  willin' 
to  take  chances. 

From  somewheres  out  in  the  barn  I  heard  a 
scratchin'  kind  of  noise,  and  I  headed  for  there. 
The  big  door  was  open  a  little  ways,  and  I  squeezed 


THE  POSTMASTER 

through.  'Twas  pretty  dark,  and  I  couldn't  see 
much  for  a  minute;  but  soon  as  my  eyes  got  used  to 
the  gloominess,  I  saw  lots  of  things.  That  barn 
was  half  filled  with  boxes  and  crates,  some  empty 
and  some  not.  There  was  a  horse  in  the  stall  — 
an  old  white  horse  —  and  standin'  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor  was  a  wagon  heaped  with  things,  and  cov 
ered  with  a  piece  of  tarpaulin.  I  lifted  the  tarpau 
lin.  Underneath  it  was  a  spinnin'  wheel,  an  old- 
fashioned  table,  two  chairs,  and  a  basket.  There 
was  embroidery  and  fancywork  in  the  basket. 

Then  I  took  a  few  soundin's  among  the  full 
boxes  and  crates  standin'  round.  I  didn't  do  much 
of  this,  'cause  the  scratchin'  noise  kept  up  in  a  room 
at  the  back  of  the  barn,  and  I  wa'n't  anxious  to  dis 
turb  the  scratcher,  whoever  he  was.  But  I  saw  a 
plenty.  There  was  enough  bran-new  "  antiques  " 
and  "  genuine  "  Injun  knittin'  work  in  them  crates 
and  boxes  to  stock  the  "  Colonial  Exchange  "  for 
six  weeks,  even  with  better  trade  than  we'd  had. 

I'd  seen  all  I  wanted  to  in  that  room,  so  I  tip 
toed  into  the  other.  A  feller  was  in  there,  standin' 
back  to  me,  and  hard  at  work.  He  was  sandpa- 
perin'  the  polish  off  a  mahogany  sewin'  table;  the 
kind  Mrs.  Burke  Smythe  called  a  "  find,"  and  had 
in  her  best  front  parlor  as  an  example  of  what  our 
great-granddads  used  to  make,  and  we  wa'n't  capa 
ble  of  in  these  cheap  and  shoddy  days.  There  was 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

another  "  find  "  on  the  floor  side  of  him,  a  chair 
layin'  on  its  side.  Pasted  on  the  under  side  of  the 
seat  was  a  paper  label  with  "  Grand  Rivers  Furni 
ture  Manufacturing  Company "  printed  on  it.  I 
judged  that  the  hand  of  Time  hadn't  got  to  work 
on  that  chair  yet,  but  it  would  as  soon  as  it  had  an 
tiqued  the  table. 

I  watched  the  mellowin'  influence  gettin'  in  its 
licks  —  much  as  twenty  year  passed  over  that  table 
in  the  three  minutes  I  stood  there  —  and  then  I 
spoke. 

"  Hello,  shipmate !  "  says  I.  "  You're  busy, 
ain't  you?  " 

He  jumped  as  if  I'd  stuck  a  sail  needle  in  him, 
the  table  tipped  over  with  a  bang,  and  he  swung 
around  and  faced  me.  And  I'm  blessed  if  he  wa'n't 
that  Armenian  critter;  the  one  that  the  clerk  had 
talked  to  —  the  "  last  survivor  of  the  peddlin' 


crew." 


I  was  expectin'  'most  anything  to  happen,  and  I 
was  kind  of  hopin'  it  would.  My  fists  sort  of  shut 
of  themselves.  But  it  didn't  happen.  I  knew  the 
feller;  but,  as  luck  would  have  it,  he  didn't  recog 
nize  me.  He  swallered  hard  a  couple  of  times,  and 
then  he  says,  pretty  average  ugly: 

"Vat  d'ye  want?" 

"  Oh,  nothin',"  says  I.  "  I  just  drove  over  with 
the  doctor,  and  I  cruised  'round  the  premises  a  little, 

175 


THE  POSTMASTER 

that's  all.  You  must  do  a  good  business  here. 
Make  this  stuff  yourself?  " 

"  No,"  he  snapped. 

I  could  see  that  he  was  dyin'  to  chuck  me  out,  and 
didn't  dast  to.  I  picked  up  the  chair  and  looked  at 
it. 

"  Humph !  "  I  says.  "  Grand  Rivers  Company, 
hey?  Buy  of  them,  do  you?" 

"  Yes,"  says  he. 

"And  this?"  I  took  a  centerpiece  out  of  one 
of  the  boxes.  "  This  come  from  Grand  Rivers, 
too?" 

"  No,"  says  he.  "  Boston.  Is  dere  anything 
else  you  vant  to  know?  " 

"Guess  not.     You  the  sick  man?" 

"No;  mine  brudder." 

"  Your  brother,  hey?  Let's  see.  I  wonder  if  I 
don't  know  him.  Kind  of  tall  and  thin,  ain't  he?  " 

He  sniffed  contemptuous. 

"  No,"  says  he,  "  he's  short  and  fat." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,"  says  I,  "  guess  I  was  mis 
took.  Well,  I  must  be  gettin'  back  to  the  buggy; 
the  doctor's  prob'ly  waitin'  for  me.  Good  day,  mis 
ter." 

He  never  said  good-by;  but  I  saw  him  watchin' 
me  all  the  way  to  the  gate.  I  climbed  into  the 
buggy,  and  set  there  till  he  went  back  into  the  barn; 
then  I  got  down  and  hurried  to  the  front  of  the 

176 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

house.  The  door  wa'n't  fastened,  and  I  went  in. 
I  met  the  doctor  in  the  hall.  He  was  some  sur 
prised  to  see  me  there. 

"Hello,  Doc!"  says  I.  "Where's  your  pa 
tient?" 

"  In  there,"  says  he,  pointin'  to  the  door  astern 
of  him.  "But—" 

"  How's  he  gettin'  along?  "  I  wanted  to  know. 

"  Why,  he's  better,"  he  says.  "  He's  practically 
all  right.  I  wanted  him  to  get  up  and  walk,  but  he 
wouldn't." 

"Wouldn't,  hey?"  says  I.  "Humph!  Well, 
maybe  he  wouldn't  walk  for  you;  but  I'll  bet  /  can 
make  him  fly." 

Before  he  could  stop  me,  I  flung  that  door  open 
and  walked  into  that  room.  The  sufferer  from 
fallin'  packin'  boxes  was  settin'  in  one  chair  with 
his  foot  in  another.  I  drew  off,  and  slapped  him 
on  the  shoulder  hard  as  I  could. 

"  Hello,  Sol  Uncas  Mohicans  1 "  I  sung  out. 
"  How's  genuine  antique  lamp  mats  these  days?  " 

For  about  two  seconds  he  just  set  there  and 
looked  at  me,  set  and  glared,  with  his  mouth  open. 
Then  he  let  out  a  scream  like  a  scared  woman, 
jumped  out  of  that  chair,  and  made  for  the  kitchen 
door,  lame  foot  and  all.  I  headed  him  off,  and  he 
turned  and  set  sail  for  the  one  I'd  come  in  at.  He 
reached  the  front  hall  just  ahead  of  me;  but  my 

177 


THE  POSTMASTER 

boot  caught  him  at  the  top  step  and  helped  him 
some.  He  never  stopped  at  the  gate,  but  went 
head-first  into  the  woods  whoopin'  anthems. 

The  sandpaperin'  chap  came  runnin'  out  of  the 
barn,  and  I  took  after  him;  but  he  didn't  wait  to  see 
what  I  had  to  say.  He  dove  for  the  woods  on  his 
side.  We  had  the  premises  to  ourselves,  and  I  went 
back  and  picked  up  the  doctor,  who'd  been  upset 
by  the  "  child  of  the  forest "  on  his  way  to  the  an 
cestral  tall  timber. 

"  What  —  what  —  what?  "  gasps  the  medical 
man.  "  For  Heaven  sakes !  Why,  he  wouldn't  try 
to  walk  when  I  asked  him  to.  How  did  you  do 
that?" 

"  Easy  enough,"  says  I.  "  'Twas  an  old-fash 
ioned  treatment,  but  it  helps  —  in  some  cases.  Just 
layin'  on  of  hands,  that's  all.  Now,  Doc,  afore  you 
ask  another  question,  let  me  ask  you  one.  Ain't 
that  critter's  name  Rose?" 

He  was  consider'ble  shook,  but  he  managed  to 
grin  a  little. 

"  No,"  says  he,  "  but  you've  guessed  pretty  near 
it." 

Then  he  told  me  what  the  name  was. 

I  rode  back  to  West  Ostable  with  that  doctor  and 
took  the  evenin'  train  home.  Jim  Henry  was 
waitin'  for  me  on  the  store  platform  when  I  got  out 
of  the  depot  wagon. 

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ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

"Well?"  he  wanted  to  know.  "Did  you  find 
him?" 

"  Humph!  "  says  I.  "  I  did  find  the  lost  tribes, 
a  couple  of  members  of  'em,  anyway." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  says  he. 

"  Come  somewheres  where  'tain't  so  public  and  I'll 
tell  you." 

So  we  went  back  into  the  back  room  and  I  told 
him  my  yarn.  He  listened,  with  his  mouth  open, 
gettin'  madder  and  madder  all  the  time. 

"  Now,"  says  I,  endin'  up,  "  the  way  I  look  at  it 
is  this.  I've  been  thinkin'  it  out  on  the  cars  and  I 
cal'late  we'll  have  to  do  this  way.  We  ain't  crooks 
—  that  is,  we  didn't  mean  to  be  —  and  now  we 
know  all  our  '  antiques '  are  frauds  and  our  '  Injun 
curios  '  made  up  to  Boston,  we  must  either  shut  up 
the  '  Exchange '  or  go  back  to  home  products. 
We'll  have  to  keep  mum  about  those  we  have  sold, 
because  most  of  'em  have  been  carted  out  of  town 
and  we  don't  know  where  to  locate  the  buyers. 
But,  for  my  part,  bein'  average  honest  and  meanin' 
to  be  square,  I  feel  mighty  bad.  What  do  you 
say?" 

He  said  enough.  He  felt  as  bad  as  I  did  about 
stickin'  our  customers,  but  what  seemed  to  cut  him 
the  most  was  that  somebody  had  got  ahead  of  him  in 
business. 

'  Think  of  it !  "  says  he.  "  Skipper,  we're  gold- 
179 


THE  POSTMASTER 

bricked!  Cheated!  Faked!  Done!  Think  of  it! 
If  I  could  only  get  my  hands  on  that  — " 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,"  says  I.  "  Better  think  the 
whole  of  it  while  you're  about  it.  We  set  out  to 
drive  those  peddlers  out  of  what  was  their  trade. 
If  they  was  smart  enough  to  turn  the  tables  and 
make  a  good  profit  out  of  sellin'  us  the  stuff,  I  don't 
know  as  I  blame  'em  much.  It  was  just  tit  for  tat 
—  or  so  it  seems  to  me  now  that  I've  cooled  off." 

"  Maybe  so,"  says  he;  "  but  it  hurts  my  pride  just 
the  same.  James  Henry  Jacobs,  doctor  of  sick 
businesses,  beat  by  a  couple  of  peddlers  from  Ar 
menia  !  " 

"  Hold  on  again,"  I  says.  "  I  ain't  told  you 
their  real  name  yet." 

'Their  name?"  he  says.  "I  know  it  already. 
It's  Rose." 

"  Not  accordin'  to  that  West  Ostable  doctor,  it 
ain't.  The  name  they  give  him  was  Rosenstein." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  spell  without  speakin'. 
Then  he  smiled,  heaved  a  long  breath,  and  reached 
over  and  shook  my  hand. 

"Whew!"  says  he.  "Skipper,  I  feel  better. 
Richard's  himself  again.  To  be  beat  in  a  business 
deal  by  Roses  is  one  thing  —  but  by  Rosensteins  is 
another.  You  can't  beat  the  Rosensteins  in  busi 
ness." 

"  Not  in  the  secondhand  and  by-productin'  busi- 
180 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

ness  you  can't,"   says  I.      '  Them  lines  belong  to 
'em.     We  hadn't  any  right  to  butt  in." 

And  we  both  laughed,  good  and  hearty. 

"  But,"  says  I,  after  a  little,  "  what'll  we  do  with 
that  curio  room,  anyway?  Give  it  up?  " 

"  Not  much !  "  says  he,  emphatic.  "  I  guess 
we'll  have  to  give  up  the  antiques;  but  we've  got  the 
winter  ahead  of  us,  Skipper,  and  the  Ostable  County 
embroidery  crop  flourishes  best  in  cold  weather. 
We'll  start  the  old  ladies  knittin'  again  and  have  a 
fairly  good-sized  stock  when  the  autos  commence 
runnin'  once  more.  Give  up  the  Colonial  Pilgrim 
Mothers  ?  I  should  say  not !  " 

"  All  right,"  I  says,  dubious.  '  You  may  be 
right,  Jim;  you  generally  are.  But  I'm  a  little 
scary  of  this  by-product  game.  It'll  get  us  into  se 
rious  trouble,  -I'm  afraid,  some  day.  It's  easier  to 
steer  one  big  craft,  than  'tis  to  maneuver  a  fleet  of 
little  ones." 

He  sniffed,  scornful.  "  As  I  understand  it, 
Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  says,  "  this  business  of  yours  was  in 
a  pretty  feeble  condition  when  you  called  me  in. to 
prescribe." 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  Jim,  but — " 

"  Yes.     And  it's  a  healthy,  growin'  child  now." 

"  Yes.     It  sartin  is." 

'  Then,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  take  my  medicine  and 
be  thankful.  Time  enough  to  complain  when  you 

181 


THE  POSTMASTER 

commence  to  go  into  another  decline.  Ain't  that 
so?" 

I  didn't  answer. 

"  Isn't  it  so?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  Maybe,"  I  said;  "  but  it  may  be  a  fatal  disease 
next  time;  and  it's  better  to  keep  well  than  to  be 
cured  —  and  a  lot  cheaper." 

He  said  I  was  a  reg'lar  bullfrog  for  croakin', 
and  hinted  that  I  was  in  the  back  row  of  the  primer 
class  so  fur's  business  instinct  went.  I  had  a  feelin' 
that  he  was  right,  but  I  had  another  feelin'  that  / 
was  right,  too.  However,  there  was  nothin'  to  do 
but  keep  quiet  and  wait  the  next  development. 
Afore  Christmas  the  development  landed  with  both 
feet. 

I'd  heard  the  news  twice  already  that  mornin'. 
Fust  at  the  Poquit  House  breakfast  table,  where 
'twas  served  along  with  the  chopped  hay  cereal  and 
warmed  over  and  picked  to  pieces,  as  you  might 
say,  all  through  the  b'iled  eggs  and  spider-bread, 
plumb  down  to  the  doughnuts  and  imitation  coffee. 
Then  I'd  no  sooner  got  outdoor  than  Solon  Saunders 
sighted  me,  and  he  'bout  ship  and  beat  acrost  the 
road  like  a  porgie-boat  bearin'  down  on  a  school  of 
fish.  He  was  so  excited  that  he  couldn't  wait  to 
get  alongside,  but  commenced  heavin'  overboard  his 
cargo  of  information  while  he  was  in  mid-channel. 

"  Did  you  hear  about  the  Higgins  Place  bein' 
182 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

rented,    Cap'n   Snow?"   he   sung  out.      "It's  been 
took  for  next  summer  and  — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  heard  it,"  says  I.  "  Fine  season 
able  weather  we're  havin'  these  days.  Don't  see 
any  signs  of  snow  yet,  do  you?  " 

If  he'd  been  skipper  of  a  pleasure  boat  with  a 
picnic  party  aboard  he  couldn't  have  paid  less  at 
tention  to  my  weather  signals. 

"  It's  been  hired  for  an  eatin'-house,"  he  says, 
puffin'  and  out  of  breath.  "  A  man  by  the  name  of 
Fred  from  Buffalo,  has  hired  it,  and  — " 

"  Fred,  hey  ?  "  I  interrupted.  "  Humph !  'Cord- 
in'  to  the  proclamations  /  heard  he  cruises  under  the 
name  of  George  —  Eben  George  —  and  he  hails 
from  Bangor." 

"  No,  no !  "  he  says,  emphatic.  "  His  name's 
Edgar  Fred  and  it's  Buffalo  he  comes  from.  Henry 
Williams  told  me  and  he  got  it  from  his  wife's  aunt, 
Mrs.  Debby  Baker,  and  her  cousin  by  marriage  told 
her.  She  is  a  Knowles  —  the  cousin  is  —  married 
one  of  the  Denboro  Knowleses  —  and  she  got  it 
from  Peleg  Kendrick's  nephew  whose  stepmother 
is  related  to  the  woman  that  used  to  do  old  Judge 
Higgins's  cookin'  when  he  was  alive.  So  it  come 
straight,  you  see." 

'  Yes,"  I  says,  "  about  as  straight  as  the  eel  went 
through  the  snarled  fish  net.  All  right.  I  don't 
care.  How's  your  rheumatiz  gettin'  on,  Solon?" 

183 


THE  POSTMASTER 

I  thought  that  would  fetch  him,  but  it  didn't. 
Gen'rally  speakin',  he'd  talk  for  an  hour  about  his 
rheumatiz  and  never  skip  an  ache;  but  now  he  was 
too  much  interested  in  the  Higgins  Place  even  to 
catalogue  his  symptoms. 

"  It's  some  better,"  he  says,  "  since  I  tried  the 
Electric  Ointment  out  of  the  newspaper.  But, 
Cap'n  Zeb,  did  you  know  that  this  Fred  man  was 
goin'  to  start  a  swell  dinin'-room  for  automobile 
folks?  He  is.  He's  had  all  kinds  of  experience  in 
them  lines.  He's  goin'  to  have  foreign  help  and 
a  chief  Frenchman  to  do  the  cookin'  and  —  and  I 
don't  know  what  all." 

"  I  guess  that's  right,"  says  I.  "  Well,  I  don't 
know  what  all,  either,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  worry. 
We'll  see  what  we  shall  see,  as  the  blind  feller  said. 
Hello !  there's  the  minister  over  there  and  I'll  bet  he 
ain't  heard  a  word  about  it." 

That  done  the  trick.  Away  he  put,  all  sail  set,  to 
give  the  minister  the  earache,  and  I  went  on  down 
to  the  store.  And  there  was  Jacobs  talkin'  to  a 
man  I'd  never  seen  afore  and  both  of  'em  so  inter 
ested  they  scarcely  noticed  me  when  I  come  in. 

He  was  a  kind  of  ordinary-lookin'  feller  at  fust 
sight,  the  stranger  was,  sort  of  a  cross  between  a 
parson  and  a  circus  agent,  judgin'  by  his  get-up. 
Pretty  thin,  with  black  hair  and  a  black  beard,  and 
dressed  all  in  black  except  his  vest,  which  was  thun- 

184 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

der-storm  plaid.  I'd  have  cal'lated  he  was  in 
mournin'  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  vest.  As  'twas  he 
looked  like  a  hearse  with  a  brass  band  aboard.  Both 
him  and  Jacobs  was  smokin'  cigars,  the  best  ten- 
centers  we  carried  in  stock. 

"  Mornin',"  says  I,  passin'  by  'em.  Jim  Henry 
looked  up  and  saw  me. 

"Ah,  Skipper,"  says  he;  "glad  to  see  you. 
Come  here.  I  want  to  make  you  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Edwin  Frank,  who  is  intendin'  to  locate  here 
in  Ostable.  Mr.  Frank,  shake  hands  with  my  part 
ner,  Cap'n  Zebulon  Snow." 

We  shook,  the  band  wagon  hearse  and  me,  and  I 
felt  as  if  I  was  back  aboard  the  old  Fair  Breeze, 
handlin'  cold  fish.  Jim  Henry  went  right  along  ex- 
plainin'  matters. 

"  Mr.  Frank,"  he  says,  "  has  had  a  long  expe 
rience  in  the  restaurant  and  hotel  line  and  he  be 
lieves  there  is  an  openin'  for  a  first-class  road-house 
in  this  town.  He  has  leased  the  — " 

Then  I  understood.  "  Why,  yes,  yes !  "  I  inter 
rupted.  "  I  know  now.  You're  Mr.  Eben  Edgar 
Fred  George  from  Buffalo  and  Bangor,  ain't  you?  " 

Then  they  didn't  understand.  When  I  explained 
about  the  boardin'-house  talk  and  Solon  Saunders' 
"  straight  "  news,  Jacobs  laughed  fit  to  kill  and  even 
Mr.  Fred  George  Frank  pumped  up  a  smile.  But 
his  pumps  was  out  of  gear,  or  somethin',  for  the 

185 


THE  POSTMASTER 

smile  looked  more  like  a  crack  in  an  ice  chest  than 
anything  human.  However,  he  said  he  was  glad 
to  see  me  and  I  strained  the  truth  enough  to  say  I 
was  glad  to  meet  him. 

"  So  you've  hired  the  Higgins  Place,  Mr.  Frank," 
I  went  on.  "  Well,  well !  And  you're  goin'  to 
make  a  hotel  of  it.  If  old  Judge  Higgins  don't  turn 
over  in  his  grave  at  that,  he's  fast  moored,  that's 
all." 

I  meant  what  I  said,  almost.  Judge  Higgins,  in 
his  day,  had  been  one  of  the  big-bugs  of  the  town 
and  his  place  on  the  hill  was  one  of  the  best  on  the 
main  road.  It  set  'way  back  from  the  street  and 
the  view  from  under  the  two  big  silver-leaf  trees  by 
the  front  door  took  in  all  creation  and  part  of  Os- 
table  Neck,  as  the  sayin'  is.  The  Judge  had  been 
dead  most  eight  year  now,  and,  bein'  a  three  times 
widower  without  chick  nor  child,  the  estate  was  all 
tied  up  amongst  the  heirs  of  the  three  wives  and 
was  fast  tumblin'  to  pieces.  It  couldn't  be  sold,  on 
account  of  the  row  between  the  owners,  but  it  had 
been  let  once  or  twice  to  summer  folks.  To  turn  it 
into  a  tavern  was  pretty  nigh  the  final  come-down, 
seemed  to  me. 

But  Jim  Henry  Jacobs  wa'n't  worryin'  about 
come-downs.  He  never  let  dead  dignity  interfere 
with  live  business.  He  didn't  shed  a  tear  over  the 
old  place,  or  lay  a  wreath  on  Judge  Higgins's  tomb. 

186 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

No,    sir!   he    got   down   to   the    keelson   of   things 
in  a  jiffy. 

"  Skipper,"  he  says,  sweet  and  plausible  as  a  dose 
of  sugared  soothin'-syrup.  "  Skipper,"  he  says, 
"  Mr.  Frank's  proposition  is  to  open,  not  a  hotel 
exactly,  but  a  first-class,  up-to-date  road-house  and 
restaurant.  As  progressive  citizens  of  Ostable,  as 
business  men,  wide-awake  to  the  town's  welfare,  that 
ought  to  interest  you  and  me,  on  general  principles, 
hadn't  it?" 

I  judged  that  this  was  only  Genesis,  and  that  Rev 
elation  would  come  later,  so  I  nodded  and  said  I 
cal'lated  that  it  had  —  on  general  principles. 

"  You  bet !  "  he  goes  on.  "  It  does  interest  us. 
Speakin'  personally,  I've  long  felt  that  there  was  a 
place  in  Ostable  for  a  dinin'-room,  run  to  bag  —  to 
attract,  I  mean  —  the  wealthy,  the  well-to-do  tran 
sient  trade.  Why,  just  think  of  it !  "  he  says, 
warmin'  up,  "  it's  winter  now.  By  May  or  June 
there'll  be  a  steady  string  of  autos  runnin'  along  this 
road  here,  every  one  of  'em  solid  full  of  city  people 
and  all  hungry.  Now,  it's  a  shame  to  let  those 
good  things  —  I  mean  hungry  gents  and  ladies,  go 
by  without  givin'  'em  what  they  want.  If  I  hadn't 
had  so  many  things  on  my  mind,  if  the  Ostable 
Store's  large  and  growin'  business  hadn't  took  my 
attention  exclusive,  I  should  have  ventured  a  flyer 
in  that  direction  myself.  But  never  mind  that;  Mr. 

187 


THE  POSTMASTER 

Frank  here  has  got  ahead  of  me  and  the  job's  in 
better  hands.  Mr.  Frank  is  right  up  to  the  minute; 
he's  abreast  of  the  times  and  he  —  by  the  way,  Mr. 
Frank,  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  tellin'  my  part 
ner  here  somethin'  about  your  plans.  Just  give  him 
the  line  of  talk  you've  been  givin'  me,  say." 

Mr.  Frank  didn't  mind.  He  had  the  line  over 
in  a  minute  and  if  I'd  been  cal'latin'  that  he  was  a 
frosty  specimen  with  the  water  in  his  talk-b'iler 
froze,  I  got  rid  of  the  notion  in  a  hurry.  He 
smiled,  polite,  and  begun  slow  and  deliberate,  but 
pretty  soon  he  was  runnin'  twenty  knots  an  hour. 
He  told  about  his  experience  in  the  eatin'-house  line 
—  he'd  been  everything  from  hotel  manager  to  club 
steward  —  and  about  how  successful  he'd  been  and 
how  big  the  profits  was,  and  what  his  customers  said 
about  him,  and  so  on.  Afore  a  body  had  a  chance 
to  think  this  over  —  or  to  digest  it,  long's  we're 
talkin'  about  eatin' — he  was  under  full  steam 
through  Ostable  with  the  Higgins  Place  loaded  to 
the  guards  and  beatin'  all  entries  two  mile  to  the 
lap.  He'd  never  seen  a  better  openin';  his  expe 
rience  backed  his  judgment  in  callin'  it  the  ideal 
location  and  opportunity,  and  the  like  of  that.  He 
talked  his  throat  dry  and  wound  up,  husky  but 
hurrahin',  with  somethin'  like  this: 

"  Cap'n  Snow,"  he  says,  "  you  and  Mr.  Jacobs 
must  understand  that  I  know  what  I'm  talkin'  about. 

188 


ROSES  — BY  ANOTHER  NAME 

This  enterprise  of  mine  will  be  the  very  highest 
class.  French  chef,  French  waiters,  all  the  deli 
cacies  and  game  in  season.  A  country  Delmonico's, 
that's  the  dope  —  ahem!  I  mean  that  is  the  repu 
tation  this  establishment  of  ours  will  have;  yes." 

I  judged  that  the  "  dope  "  had  slipped  out  un 
expected  and  that  the  miscue  jarred  him  a  little  mite, 
for  he  colored  up  and  wiped  his  forehead  with  a  red 
and  yellow  bordered  handkerchief.  I  was  jarred, 
too,  but  not  by  that. 

"Establishment  of  ours?"  I  says,  slow.  "You 
mean  yours,  of  course." 

He  was  goin'  to  answer,  but  Jim  Henry  got  ahead 
of  him. 

"  Sure !  of  course,  Skipper,"  he  says.  "  That's 
all  right.  There  !  "  he  went  on,  gettin'  up  and  takin' 
me  by  the  arm.  "  Mr.  Frank's  got  to  be  trottin' 
along  and  we  mustn't  detain  him.  So  long,  Mr. 
Frank.  My  partner  and  I  will  have  some  conver 
sation  and  we'll  meet  again.  Drop  in  any  time. 
Good  day." 

I  hadn't  noticed  any  signs  of  Frank's  impatience 
to  trot  along,  but  he  took  the  hint  all  right  and  got 
up  to  go.  He  said  good-by  and  I  was  turnin'  away, 
when  I  see  Jim  Henry  wink  at  him  when  they 
thought  I  wa'n't  lookin'.  I  was  suspicious  afore; 
that  wink  made  me  uneasy  as  a  spring  pullet  tied  to 
the  choppin'-block. 

189 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

EBEN  GEORGE  EDGAR  EDWIN  DEL- 
MONICO  FRANK  went  out,  dabbin'  at  his 
forehead  with  the  red  and  yellow  handker 
chief.  Jacobs  kept  his  clove  hitch  on  my  arm  and 
led  me  out  to  the  settee  on  the  front  platform. 

"  Set  down,  Skipper,"  he  says,  cheerful  and 
more'n  extra  friendly,  seemed  to  me.  "  Set  down," 
he  says,  "  and  enjoy  the  December  ozone." 

We  come  to  anchor  on  the  settee  and  there  we 
set  and  shivered  for  much  as  five  minutes,  each  of 
us  waitin'  for  the  other  to  begin.  Finally  Jim 
Henry  says,  without  lookin'  at  me : 

;'  Well,  Skipper,"  he  says,  "  that  chap's  sharp  all 
right,  ain't  he?" 

"  Seems  to  be,"  says  I,  not  too  enthusiastic. 

'  Yes,  he  is.  If  I'm  any  judge  of  human  nature 
—  and  I  hand  myself  that  bouquet  any  day  in  the 
week  —  he  knows  his  business.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  Maybe,"  I  says.  "  But  what  business  of  ours 
his  business  is  I  don't  see  —  yet.  If  you  do,  bein' 

190 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

as  you  and  me  are  supposed  to  be  partners,  perhaps 
you  wouldn't  mind  soundin'  the  fog  whistle  for  my 
benefit.  I  seem  to  have  lost  my  reckonin'  on  this 
v'yage.  Why  should  we  be  interested  in  this  Frank 
man  and  his  eatin'-house?  " 

He  laughed,  louder'n  was  necessary,  I  thought,  and 
slapped  me  on  the  shoulder. 

"  You  don't  see  where  we  come  in,  hey?  "  he  says. 
"  Well,  I  do.  A  dinin'-room  like  that  one  of  his 
will  need  a  good  many  supplies,  won't  it?  And,  if 
I  can  mesmerize  him  into  patronizin'  the  home 
market,  the  Ostable  Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots  and 
Shoes  and  Fancy  Goods  Emporium  will  gain  some, 
I  shouldn't  wonder.  Hey,  pard!  How  about 
that?  "  And  he  slapped  my  shoulder  again. 

I  turned  this  over  in  my  mind.*  "Humph!"  I 
says.  "  I  begin  to  see." 

'  You  bet  you   do  I "  he   says,   laughin'.     "  The 
amount  of  stuff  I  can  sell  that  restaurant  will — " 

But  I  broke  in  here.  I  remembered  that  wink 
and  I  didn't  believe  I  was  clear  of  the  choppin'-block 
yet. 

"  Hold  on !  "  says  I.  "  Heave  to !  And  never 
mind  poundin'  my  starboard  shoulder  to  pieces, 
either.  I  said  I  begun  to  see;  I  don't  see  clear  yet. 
How  did  you  and  he  come  to  get  together  in  the 
fust  place?  Did  you  go  and  hunt  him  up?  or  did 
he  come  in  here  to  see  you?" 

191 


THE  POSTMASTER 

He  kind  of  hesitated.  "Why,"  he  says,  "he 
come  into  the  store,  and — " 

"  Did  he  happen  in,  or  did  he  come  to  see  you 
a-purpose?  " 

"  He  —  I  believe  he  came  to  see  me.  Then  he 
and  I  — " 

"Heave  to  again!  He  didn't  come  to  see  you 
to  beg  the  favor  of  buyin'  goods  of  you,  'tain't 
likely.  Jim  Jacobs,  answer  me  straight.  There's 
somethin'  else.  That  feller  wants  somethin'  of  you 
—  or  of  us.  Now  what  is  it  ?" 

He  hesitated  some  more.  Then  he  upset  the 
woodpile  and  let  out  the  darky. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  "  I'll  tell  you.  I  was  goin'  to 
tell  you,  anyway.  Frank's  all  right.  He's  got  a 
good  idea  and  he's  got  the  experience  to  put  it  into 
practice;  but  he's  somethin'  the  way  old  Beanblossom 
was  afore  you  took  a  share  in  this  store  —  he  needs 
a  little  more  capital." 

I  swung  round  on  the  settee  and  looked  him  square 
in  the  eye. 

"I  —  see,"  I  says,  slow.  "  Now  —  I  see !  He's 
after  money  and  he  wants  us  to  lend  it  to  him.  I 
might  have  guessed  it.  Well,  did  you  say  no  right 
off?  or  was  you  waitin'  to  have  me  say  it?  You 
might  have  said  it  yourself.  You  knew  I'd  back 
you  up." 

Would  you  believe  it?  he  got  as  red  as  a  beet. 
192 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

"  I  didn't  say  anything,"  he  says.  "  Don't  go  off 
half-cocked  like  that.  What's  the  matter  with  you 
this  mornin'  ?  He  don't  want  to  borrer  money.  He 
wants  more  capital  in  the  proposition  —  wants  to 
float  it  right.  And  he's  been  inquirin'  around  and 
has  found  that  you  and  me  are  the  two  leadin'  busi 
ness  men  in  the  place  and  has  come  to  us  first.  It's 
more  a  favor  on  his  part  than  anything  else.  He 
offers  to  let  us  have  a  third  interest  between  us;  you 
put  in  a  thousand  and  I  do  the  same.  Why,  man, 
it's  a  cinch !  It's  a  chance  that  don't  come  every  day. 
As  I  told  you,  I've  had  the  same  notion  in  my  head 
for  a  long  time.  A  summer  dinin'-room  like  that  in 
this  town  is — " 

"Wait!"  I  interrupted.  "What  do  you  know 
about  this  Frank  critter?  Where'd  he  come  from? 
Who  is  he?" 

"  He  comes  from  Pittsburg.  That's  the  last  place 
he  was  in.  And  he's  got  his  pockets  full  of  refer 
ences  and  testimonials." 

"  Humph !  Anybody  can  get  testimonials. 
Write  'em  himself,  if  there  wa'n't  any  other  way. 
I  had  a  second  mate  once  with  more  testimonials 
than  shirts,  enough  sight,  and  he — " 

"  Oh,  cut  it  out !  Besides,  I  don't  care  where  he 
comes  from.  He's  sharp  as  a  steel  trap;  that  much 
I  can  tell  with  one  eye  shut.  And  he's  run  dinin'- 
rooms  and  hotels;  that  I'll  bet  my  hat  on.  That's 

193 


THE  POSTMASTER 

all  we  need  to  know.  A  road-house  in  this  town  is  a 
twenty  per  cent,  proposition  durin'  the  summer 
months.  It's  the  chance  of  a  lifetime,  I  tell  you." 

"  Maybe  so.  But  how  do  you  know  the  feller's 
honest?  " 

"  I  don't  care  whether  he's  honest  or  not.  It 
doesn't  make  any  difference.  If  I  wa'n't  here  to 
keep  my  eye  peeled,  :t  might  be;  but  I'll  be  here 
and  if  he  gets  ahead  of  me,  he'll  be  movin'  to  some 
extent.  Someone  else'll  grab  the  chance  if  we  don't. 
I'm  for  it.  What  do  you  say?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  Jim,"  says  I,  "  I  can  see 
where  you  stand.  You're  so  dead  sartin  that  an 
eatin'-house  of  that  kind'll  pay  big,  that  you're  blind 
to  the  rest  of  it.  Now  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  judge 
of  human  nature  like  you  —  leavin'  out  Injun  and 
Rosenstein  human  nature,  of  course  —  nor  a  doctor 
of  sick  businesses,  which  is  your  profession.  But  my 
experience  is  — " 

He  stood  up  and  sniffed  impatient. 

"  Cut  it  out,  I  tell  you !  "  he  says,  again.  "  This 
ain't  an  experience  meetin'.  Will  you  take  a  flyer 
with  me  in  that  road-house,  or  won't  you?  " 

"  Way  I  feel  now,  I  won't,"  says  I,  prompt. 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  took  a  step  towards  the 
door  and  then  stopped. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  "  you  think  it  over  till  to-morrer 
inornin'  and  then  let  me  know.  Only,  you  mark  my 

194 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

words,  it's  a  chance.  And,  with  me  to  keep  my  eye- 
on  it,  there's  no  risk  at  all." 

So  that's  the  way  it  ended  that  day.  And  half 
that  night  I  laid  awake,  feelin'  meaner'n  dirt  to  say  no 
to  as  good  a  partner  as  I  had,  and  yet  pretty  average 
sure  I  was  right,  just  the  same. 

In  the  mornin'  my  mind  was  still  betwixt  and  be 
tween.  I  went  down  to  the  store  and  walked  back 
to  the  post-office  department.  I  looked  in  through 
the  little  window  and  saw  Mary  Blaisdell  inside, 
sortin'  the  outgoin'  letters.  The  sunshine,  streamin' 
in  from  outside,  lit  up  her  hair  till  it  looked  like  one 
of  them  halos  in  a  church  picture.  Seems  to  me  I 
never  saw  her  look  prettier;  but  then,  every  time  I 
saw  her  I  thought  the  same  thing.  A  good-lookin' 
woman  and  a  good  woman  —  yes,  and  capable. 
That  she'd  lived  so  many  years  without  gettin'  mar 
ried,  was  one  of  the  things  that  made  a  feller  lose 
confidence  in  the  good-sense  of  humans.  The  chap 
that  got  her  would  be  lucky.  Then  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  myself  in  the  lookin'-glass  where  cus 
tomers  tried  on  hats,  and  decided  I'd  better  stop 
thinkin'  foolishness  or  somebody  would  catch  me  at 
it  and  send  me  to  the  comic  papers. 

"  Mornin',  Mary,"  says  I.  "  Has  Mr.  Jacobs 
come  aboard  yet?  " 

She  turned  and  came  to  her  side  of  the  window. 

"  Yes,"  she  says,  "  he  was  here.     He's  gone  out 

195 


THE  POSTMASTER 

now  with  that  Mr.  Frank.  I  believe  they've  gone 
up  to  the  old  Higgins  Place." 

"  Um-hm,"  says  I.  "  Well,  Mary,  just  between 
friends,  I'd  like  to  ask  you  somethin'.  Do  you  like 
that  Frank  man's  looks?  " 

She  wa'n't  expectin'  that  and  she  didn't  know  how 
to  answer  for  a  jiffy.  Then  she  kind  of  half  laughed, 
and  says :  "  No,  Cap'n  Zeb,  since  you  ask  me,  I  —  I 
don't.  I  don't  like  him.  And  I  haven't  any  good 
reason,  either." 

I  nodded.  "  Much  obliged,  Mary,"  says  I. 
"  And,  since  you  ain't  asked  me,  I'll  tell  you  that  / 
don't  like  him.  And  my  reason's  about  as  good  as 
yours.  Maybe  it's  his  clothes.  A  man,  'cordin* 
to  my  notion,  has  a  right  to  look  like  a  horse  jockey, 
if  he  wants  to;  and  he's  got  a  right  to  look  like  an 
undertaker.  But  when  he  looks  like  a  combination 
of  the  two,  I  —  well,  I  get  skittish  and  begin  to  shy, 
that's  all.  It's  too  much  as  if  he  was  baited  to  trap 
you  dead  or  alive." 

Then  Jim  Henry  come  in  and  when,  an  hour  or 
so  later,  he  got  me  one  side  and  asked  me  if  I'd 
made  up  my  mind  about  investin'  in  Frank's  road- 
house,  I  answered  prompt  that  my  mind  was  made  up 
and  the  answer  was  still  no.  He  was  disapp'inted, 
I  could  see  that,  and  pretty  mad. 

"  Humph !  "  says  he.  "  Skipper,  you're  all  right 
except  for  one  fault  —  you're  as  '  country '  as  they 

196 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

make  'em,  and  they  make  'em  pretty  narrer  some 
times.  Well,  you've  had  the  chance.  Don't  ever 
tell  me  you  haven't." 

"  I  won't,"  says  I,  and  we  didn't  mention  the  sub 
ject  for  a  long  time.  Then  —  but  that  comes  later. 
However,  I  judged  that  Frank  had  found  folks  in 
Ostable  who  wa'n't  as  narrer  and  "  country  "  as  I 
was,  for,  inside  of  a  week,  the  carpenters  was  busy 
on  the  Higgins  Place.  They  built  on  great,  wide 
piazzas;  they  knocked  out  partitions  between  rooms; 
they  made  the  house  pretty  much  over.  In  March 
loads  of  fancy  furniture  came  from  Boston.  At 
last  a  windmill  three  feet  high  —  made  to  look  like 
a  little  copy  of  the  old  Cape  windmills  our  great- 
granddads  used  to  grind  grist  in,  with  sails  that 
turned  —  was  set  up  in  the  front  yard,  and  on  a 
post  by  the  big  gate  was  swingin'  a  fancy  notice 
board,  with  a  gilt  windmill  painted  on  that,  and  the 
words  in  big  letters: 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL. 

MEALS  AT  ALL  HOURS. 

STEAKS,  CHOPS,  GAME,  ETC. 
TABLE  D'HOTE  DINNER  EACH  DAY  AT  1.15, 

Special  Accommodations  for  Auto  Parties. 
197 


THE  POSTMASTER 

That  was  it,  you  see.  "  The  Sign  of  the  Wind 
mill  "  was  the  name  of  the  new  road-house. 

But  that  wa'n't  all  the  advertising  by  a  consid- 
er'ble  sight.  There  was  signs  all  up  and  down  the 
main  roads,  with  hands  p'intin'  in  the  "  Windmill  " 
direction.  And  there  was  ads  in  the  Cape  papers 
and  in  the  Boston  papers,  too.  I  swan,  I  didn't 
believe  anybody  but  Jim  Henry  Jacobs  could  have 
engineered  such  advertisin' !  And  there  was  a 
black-lookin'  critter  with  the  ends  of  his  mustache 
waxed  so  sharp  you  could  have  sewed  canvas  with 
'em  —  he  was  the  French  chef  —  and  three  foreign 
waiters,  and  a  dark-complected  fleshy  woman  who 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  general  assistant  manager  and 
stewardess,  and  —  and  —  goodness  knows  what 
there  wa'n't.  There  was  so  many  kinds  of  hired 
help  that  I  couldn't  see  where  Frank  himself  come 
in  —  unless  he  was  the  spare  "windmill,"  which, 
judgin'  by  his  gift  of  gab,  I  cal'late  might  be  the 
fact. 

'  The  Sign  of  the  Windmill "  bought  all  its  gro 
ceries  and  general  supplies  at  the  store,  which,  con- 
siderin'  that  we'd  turned  down  the  "  chance  "  to  be 
part  owners,  seemed  sort  of  odd  to  me,  'cause  Frank 
didn't  look  like  a  feller  who'd  forgive  a  slight  like 
that.  But  I  judged  Jim  Henry  had  hypnotized  him, 
as  he  done  other  difficult  customers,  and  so  I  said 
nothin'.  The  auto  season  opened  and  our  weekly 

198 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

bills  with  that  road-house  was  big  ones,  but  they  was 
paid  every  week,  and  I  hadn't  any  kick  there, 
either. 

As  for  the  business  that  dinin'-room  done,  it  was 
surprising  particularly  Saturdays  and  Sundays,  when 
there'd  be  twenty  or  more  autos  in  the  front  yard 
and  more  a-comin'.  The  table  d'hote  dinner  at  1.15 
was  so  well  patronized  that  folks  had  to  wait  their 
turns  at  table  and  later,  on  moonlight  nights,  the  old 
house  was  all  lighted  up  and  you  could  hear  the  noise 
of  dishes  rattlin'  and  the  laughin'  and  singin'  till 
after  eleven  o'clock.  And  our  bills  with  the  "  Sign 
of  the  Windmill  "  kept  gettin'  bigger  and  bigger. 

But  though  the  auto  parties  was  thick  and  the 
patronage  good,  still  there  was  some  dissatisfaction, 
I  found  out.  One  big  car  stopped  at  the  store  on  a 
Saturday  afternoon  and  the  boss  of  it  talked  with 
me  while  the  women  folks  was  inside  buyin'  post 
cards  and  such. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  to  the  owner  of  the  car,  a  big, 
fleshy,  good-natured  chap  he  was,  "  well,"  says  I, 
"  I  cal'late  you've  all  had  a  good  dinner.  Feed  you 
fust-class  up  there  at  the  Windmill  place,  don't 
they?" 

He  sniffed.  "  Humph !  "  says  he,  "  the  food's 
all  right.  It  ought  to  be,  at  the  price.  Is  the  pro 
prietor  of  that  hotel  named  Allie  Baby?  " 

"Allie  which?"  I  says,  laughin'.  "No,  no,  his 
199 


THE  POSTMASTER 

name's  Frank.  Edwin  George  Eben  etcetery  Frank. 
What  made  you  think  'twas  Allie?  " 

"  'Cause  he's  a  close  connection  of  the  Forty 
Thieves,"  he  says,  sharp.  "  He'd  take  a  prize  in 
the  hog  class  at  a  county  fair,  that  chap  would. 
What's  the  matter  with  him?  Does  he  think  he's 
runnin'  a  get-rich-quick  shop?  Two  weeks  ago  I 
paid  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  a  dinner  there,  and  that 
was  seventy-five  cents  too  much.  Now  he's  jumped 
to  two-fifty  and  the  feed  ain't  a  bit  better." 

"Two  dollars  and  a  half  for  a  dinner!"  says  I. 
"Whew!  The  cost  of  livin'  is  goin'  up,  ain't  it? 
What  do  they  give  you  ?  Canary  birds'  tongues  on 
toast?  Any  shore  dinner  ever  I  see  could  be  cooked 
for—" 

He  interrupted.  "  Shore  dinner  nothin' !  "  he 
snorts.  "  I  wouldn't  kick  at  the  price  if  I  got  a  good 
shore  dinner.  But  what  we  got  here  is  a  poor  imi 
tation  of  a  country  Waldorf.  Everybody's  kickin', 
but  we  all  go  there  because  it's  the  best  we  can  find 
for  twenty  miles.  However,  I  hear  another  place 
is  to  be  started  in  Denboro  and  if  that  makes  good, 
your  Forty  Thief  friend  will  have  to  haul  in  his 
horns.  He'll  never  get  another  cent  from  me,  or  a 
hundred  others  I  know,  who  have  been  his  best  cus 
tomers.  We're  all  waitin'  to  give  him  the  shake 
and  it  looks  as  if  we  should  be  able  to  do  it.  We 
motorin'  fellers  stick  together  and,  if  the  word's 

200 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

passed  along  the  line,  the  "  Sign  of  the  Windmill " 
will  be  a  dead  one,  mark  my  words." 

I  marked  'em,  and  when,  by  and  by,  I  heard  that 
the  Denboro  dinin'-room  was  open  and  doin'  a  good 
business,  I  underscored  the  mark. 

This  was  about  the  middle  of  June.  A  week 
later  Jim  Henry  got  the  telegram  about  his  younger 
brother  out  in  Colorado  bein'  sick  and  wantin'  to  see 
him  bad.  He  hated  to  go,  but  he  felt  he  had  to, 
so  he  went. 

I  said  good-by  to  him  up  at  the  depot  and  told  him 
not  to  worry  a  mite.  "  I'll  look  out  for  everything," 
I  says.  "  Course  I'll  miss  you  at  the  store,  but 
I'll  write  you  every  day  or  so  and  keep  you  posted, 
and  you  can  give  me  business  prescriptions  by 
mail." 

"  That's  all  right,  Skipper,"  says  he,  "  I  know  the 
store'll  be  took  care  of.  But  there's  one  thing  that  — 
that—" 

"  What's  the  one  thing?  "  I  asked.  "  Overboard 
with  it.  My  shoulders  are  broad  and  I  won't  mind 
totin'  another  hogshead  or  so." 

He  hesitated  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  looked 
troubled.  But  finally  he  said  he'd  guessed  'twas 
nothin'  that  amounted  to  nothin'  anyway  and  he'd 
be  back  in  a  couple  of  weeks  sure.  So  off  he  went 
and  I  had  a  sort  of  Robinson  Crusoe  desert  island 
feelin'  that  lasted  all  that  day  and  night. 

201 


THE  POSTMASTER 

It  lasted  longer  than  that,  too.  I  didn't  hear 
from  him  for  ten  days.  Then  I  got  a  note  sayin' 
his  brother  had  scarlet  fever  —  which  seemed  a  fool 
disease  for  a  grown-up  man  to  have  —  and  was  pretty 
sick.  I  wrote  to  him  for  the  land  sakes  to  be  careful 
he  didn't  get  it  himself,  and  the  next  news  I  heard 
was  from  a  doctor  sayin'  he  had  got  it.  After  that 
the  bulletins  was  infrequent  and  alarmin'. 

I'd  have  put  for  Colorado  in  a  minute,  but  I 
couldn't;  that  store  was  on  my  shoulders  and  I 
couldn't  leave.  I  telegraphed  not  to  spare  no 
expense  and  to  write  or  wire  every  day.  'Twas  all 
I  could  do,  but  I  never  spent  such  a  worried  time 
afore  nor  since.  I  was  worried,  not  only  about  my 
partner,  but  about  the  business  he'd  put  in  my  charge. 
There  was  new  developments  in  that  business  and 
they  kept  on  developin'. 

'Twas  the  "  Sign  of  the  Windmill  "  that  was  trou- 
blin'  me.  As  I  told  you,  the  weekly  bills  for  that 
eatin'-house  was  big  ones,  but  the  fust  three  or  four 
had  been  paid  on  the  dot.  Now,  however,  they 
wa'n't  paid  and  they  was  just  as  big.  Frank's 
account  on  our  books  kept  gettin'  larger  and  larger 
and,  not  only  that,  but  anybody  could  see  that  the 
Windmill  wa'n't  doin'  half  the  trade  it  begun  with. 
There  was  more  auto  parties  than  ever,  but  the  heft 
of  'em  went  right  on  by  to  the  new  road-house  in 
Denboro.  I  remembered  what  the  fleshy  man  told 

202 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

me  and  I  judged  that  the  word  had  been  passed  to 
the  motorin'  crew,  just  as  he  prophesied. 

I  went  up  to  see  Frank  and  had  a  talk  with  him. 
I  found  him  in  his  office,  settin'  at  a  fine  new  roll-top 
desk,  with  the  dark-complected  stewardess  alongside 
of  him.  She  seemed  to  be  helpin'  him  with  his  let 
ters  and  accounts,  which  looked  odd  to  me,  and  she 
glowered  at  me  when  I  come  in  like  a  cat  at  a  stray 
poodle.  She  didn't  get  up  and  go  out,  neither,  till 
he  hinted  p'raps  she'd  better,  and  even  then  she 
whispered  to  him  mighty  confidential  afore  she  went. 
'Twas  a  queer  way  for  hired  help  to  act,  but  'twa'n't 
none  of  my  affairs,  of  course. 

He  was  cordial  enough  till  he  found  out  what  I 
was  after  and  then  he  chilled  up  like  a  freezer  full 
of  cream.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  payin'  his  bills, 
he  give  me  to  understand,  and  he'd  pay  this  one  when 
'twas  convenient.  If  I  didn't  care  to  sell  the  Wind 
mill  goods,  that  was  my  affair,  of  course,  but  his 
relations  with  my  partner  had  been  so  pleasant  that 
—  and  so  forth  and  so  on.  I  sneaked  out  of  that 
office,  feelin'  like  a  henroost-thief  instead  of  an  hon 
est  man  tryin'  to  collect  an  honest  debt.  I'd  bungled 
things  again.  Instead  of  makin'  matters  better,  I'd 
made  'em  worse;  come  nigh  losin'  a  good  customer 
and  all  that.  What  business  had  an  old  salt  herrin' 
like  me  to  be  in  business,  anyhow?  That's  how  I 
felt  when  I  was  talkin'  to  him,  and  how  I  felt 

203 


when  I  shut  that  office  door  and  come  out  into  the 
dinin'-room. 

But  the  sight  of  that  dinin'-room,  tables  all  vacant, 
and  two  waiters  where  there  had  been  four,  fetched 
all  my  uneasiness  back  again.  If  ever  a  place  had 
"  Coin'  down  "  marked  on  it  'twas  the  "  Sign  of  the 
Windmill."  I  stewed  and  fretted  all  the  way  to  the 
store  and  when  I  got  there  I  found  that  another  big 
order  of  groceries  and  canned  goods  had  been  deliv 
ered  to  the  eatin'  house  while  I  was  gone. 

The  next  week'll  stick  in  my  mind  till  doomsday, 
I  cal'late.  Every  blessed  mornin'  found  me  vowin' 
I'd  stop  sellin'  that  Windmill,  and  every  night  found 
more  dollars  added  to  the  bill.  You  see,  I  didn't 
know  what  to  do.  If  I'd  been  sole  owner  and  sailin' 
master,  I'd  have  set  my  foot  down,  I  guess;  but 
there  was  Jim  Henry  to  be  considered.  I  wrote  a 
note  to  the  Frank  man,  but  he  didn't  even  trouble 
to  answer  it. 

Saturday  noon  came  round  and,  after  the  mail  was 
sorted,  I  wandered  out  to  the  front  platform  and 
set  there,  blue  as  a  whetstone.  The  gang  of  sum 
mer  boarders  and  natives,  that's  always  around  mail 
times,  melted  away  fast  and  I  was  pretty  nigh  alone. 
Not  quite  alone ;  Alpheus  Perkins,  the  fish  man,  was 
occupyin'  moorin's  at  t'other  end  of  the  platform 
and  he  didn't  seem  to  be  in  any  hurry.  By  and  by 
over  he  comes  and  sets  down  alongside  of  me. 

204 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

"  Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  says,  fidgety  like,  "  I  s'pose 
likely  you've  been  wonderin'  why  I  don't  pay  your 
bill  here  at  the  store,  ain't  you?  " 

I  hadn't,  havin'  more  important  things  to  think 
about,  but  now  I  remembered  that  he  did  owe  con- 
sider'ble  and  had  owed  it  for  some  time.  Alpheus 
is  as  straight  as  they  make  'em  and  usually  pays  his 
debts  prompt. 

"  I  know  you  must  have,"  he  went  on,  not  waitin' 
for  me  to  answer.  "  Well,  I  intended  to  pay  long 
afore  this,  and  I  will  pay  pretty  soon.  But  I've  had 
trouble  collectin'  my  own  debts  and  it's  held  me  back. 
If  I  could  only  get  my  hands  on  one  account  that's 
owin'  me,  I'd  be  all  right.  Say,"  says  he,  tryin'  hard 
to  act  careless  and  as  if  'twa'n't  important  one  way 
or  t'other:  "  Say,"  he  says,  "  you  know  Mr.  Frank, 
up  here  at  the  hotel,  pretty  well,  don't  you  ?  " 

For  a  minute  or  so  I  didn't  answer.  Then  I 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  my  pipe  and  says  I,  "  Why, 
yes.  I  know  him.  What  of  it?" 

"  Oh,  nothin'  much,"  he  says.  "  Only  I  was  told 
he  was  a  partic'lar  friend  of  yours  and  Mr.  Jacobs's 
and  —  and  — " 

"Who  told  you  he  was  our  partic'lar  friend?" 
I  asked. 

"  Why,  he  did.  I  was  up  there  yesterday,  just 
hintin'  I  could  use  a  check  on  account.  Not  pressin' 
the  matter  nor  tryin'  to  be  hard  on  him,  you  under- 

205 


THE  POSTMASTER 

stand;  course  he's  all  right;  but  I  was  mighty  short 
of  ready  cash  and  so — " 

"  Hold  on,  Al!  "  I  said,  quick.  "  Wait!  Does 
the  '  Sign  of  the  Windmill '  owe  you  a  bill?  " 

"  Pretty  nigh  a  hundred  dollars,"  says  he.  "  I've 
supplied  'em  with  fish  and  lobsters  and  clams  and  such 
ever  since  they  started.  Fust  month  they  paid  me 
by  the  week.  After  that — " 

"  Good  heavens  and  earth!  "  I  sung  out.  "  My 
soul  and  body  !  And  —  and,  when  you  asked  for 
it,  this  —  this  Frank  man  told  you  he'd  pay  you  when 
'twas  convenient,  same  as  he  paid  Jacobs  and  me, 
who  was  his  friends  and  was  quite  ready  to  do  busi 
ness  that  way." 

He  actually  jumped,  I'd  surprised  him  so. 

"Hey?"  he  sung  out.  "  Zeb  Snow,  be  you  a 
second-sighter?  How  did  you  know  he  told  me 
that?" 

I  drew  a  long  breath.  "  It  didn't  take  second 
sight  for  that,"  I  says.  "  I  was  up  there  last  Mon 
day  and  he  told  me  the  same  thing,  only  'twas  you 
and  Ed  Cahoon  who  was  his  friends  then." 

He  let  that  sink  in  slow. 

"My  godfreys  domino!"  he  groaned.  "My 
godfreys !  He  —  he  told  —  Why !  why,  he  must 
be  workin'  the  same  game  on  all  hands !  " 

"  Looks  like  it,"  says  I,  and,  thinkin'  of  Jim 
Henry,  poor  feller,  sick  as  he  could  be,  and  the  busi- 

206 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  WINDMILL 

ness  he'd  left  me  to  look  out  for,  my  heart  went 
down  into  my  boots. 

Perkins  set  thinkin'  for  a  jiffy.  Then  he  got  up 
off  the  settee. 

"The  son  of  a  gun!"  he  says.  "I'll  fix  him! 
I'll  put  my  bill  in  a  lawyer's  hands  to-night." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  I  sung  out,  grabbin'  him  by  the 
arm.  "  You  mustn't.  He  owes  the  Ostable  Store 
four  times  what  he  owes  you,  and  it's  likely  he  owes 
Cahoon  and  a  lot  more.  The  rest  of  us  can't  afford 
to  let  you  upset  the  calabash  that  way.  You  might 
get  yours,  though  I'm  pretty  doubtful,  but  where 
would  the  rest  of  us  come  in.  You  set  down,  Alpheus. 
Set  down,  and  let  me  think.  Set  down,  I  tell  you !  " 

When  I  talk  that  way  —  it's  an  old  seafarin'  habit 
—  most  folks  usually  obey  orders.  Alpheus  set. 
He  started  to  talk,  but  I  hushed  him  up  and,  havin' 
filled  my  pipe  and  got  it  to  goin',  I  smoked  and 
thought  for  much  as  five  minutes. 

"Hum!"  says  I,  after  the  spell  was  over,  "the 
way  I  sense  it  is  like  this:  This  ain't  any  fo'mast 
hand's  job ;  and  it  ain't  a  skipper's  job  neither.  It's 
a  case  for  all  hands  and  the  ship's  cat,  workin* 
together  and  standin'  by  each  other.  We've  got  to 
find  out  who's  who  and  what's  what,  make  up  our 
minds  and  then  all  read  the  lesson  in  concert,  like 
young  ones  in  school.  This  Frank  Windmill  critter 
owes  you  and  he  owes  me;  we're  sartin  of  that. 

207 


THE  POSTMASTER 

More'n  likely  he  owes  Ed  Gaboon  for  chickens  and 
fowls  and  eggs,  and  Bill  Bangs  for  milk,  and  Henry 
Hall  for  ice,  and  land  knows  how  many  more. 
S'pose  you  skirmish  around  and  find  out  who  he  does 
owe  and  fetch  all  the  creditors  to  the  store  here 
to-morrer  mornin'  at  eleven  o'clock.  It'll  be  church 
time,  I  know,  but  even  the  parson  will  excuse  us  for 
this  once,  'specially  as  the  *  Sign  of  the  Windmill '  is 
supposed  to  sell  liquor  and  he's  down  on  it." 

We  had  consider'ble  more  talk,  but  that  was  the 
way  it  ended,  finally.  I  went  to  bed  that  night,  but 
it  didn't  take;  I  might  as  well  have  set  up,  so  fur's 
sleep  was  concerned.  All  I  could  think  of  was 
poor,  sick  Jim  Henry  and  the  trust  he  put  in  me. 


208 


CHAPTER  XI 

COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

I  WAS  at  the  store  by  quarter  of  eleven,  but  the 
gang  of  creditors  was  there  to  meet  me,  seven 
of  'em  altogether.  Cahoon,  the  chicken  man, 
and  Bangs,  the  milk  man,  and  Hall,  the  ice  man, 
and  Alpheus,  and  Caleb  Bearse,  who'd  been  supplyin' 
meat  to  that  road-house,  and  Peleg  Doane,  who'd 
done  carpenterin'  and  repairs  on  it,  and  Jeremiah 
Doane,  his  brother,  who'd  painted  the  repaired 
places.  Seven  was  all  the  creditors  Perkins  could 
scare  up  on  short  notice,  though  he  cal'lated  there 
was  more. 

"  There's  one  more,  anyway,"  says  Bill  Bangs. 
"  That  dark-complected  woman  —  the  one  you  call 
the  stewardess,  Cap'n  Zeb  —  was  sick  a  spell  ago 
and  Frank  told  Doctor  Goodspeed  he'd  be  respon 
sible  for  the  bill.  I  see  the  doc  this  mornin'  and 
he's  with  us.  Says  he  may  be  down  later." 

They  elected  me  chairman  of  the  meetin'  and  we 
started  deliberatin'.  The  debts  amounted  to  quite 
a  lot,  though  the  Ostable  Store's  was  the  biggest. 
Some  was  for  doin'  one  thing  and  some  another,  but 

209 


THE  POSTMASTER 

we  all  agreed  we  must  see  Colcord,  the  lawyer,  afore 
we  did  much  of  anything.  While  we  was  still  pow- 
wowin',  somebody  knocked  at  the  door.  'Twas 
Doctor  Goodspeed,  on  the  way  to  see  a  patient. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  "  how's  the  consultation  comin* 
on?  Judgin'  by  your  faces,  I  should  imagine  'twas 
a  autopsy.  Time  to  take  desperate  measures,  if  you 
asked  me.  I  never  did  believe  that  Frank  chap  was 
anything  but  a  crook,  so  I'm  not  surprised.  I'm 
with  you  in  spirit,  boys,  though  I  can't  stop.  How 
ever,  here's  a  couple  of  pieces  of  information  which 
may  interest  you :  One  is  that  *  The  Sign  of  the 
Windmill's  '  account  was  overdrawn  yesterday  at  the 
bank  and  the  bank  folks  sent  notice.  T'other  is  that 
Lawyer  Colcord  is  out  of  town  for  a  couple  of  days, 
so  you  can't  get  him.  Otherwise  than  that,  the 
patient  is  normal.  By,  by.  Life's  a  giddy  jag  of 
joy,  isn't  it?  " 

He  grinned  and  shut  the  door  with  a  bang.  The 
eight  of  us  looked  at  each  other.  Then  Alpheus 
Perkins  riz  to  his  feet. 

"  Humph !  "  says  he.  "  Account  overdrawn, 
hey?  Well,  maybe  that  Windmill  ain't  made 
enough  to  pay  its  bills,  but  it's  been  takin'  in  con- 
sider'ble  cash.  If  it  ain't  at  the  bank,  where  is  it? 
I'm  goin'  to  find  out.  And  if  I  can't  get  a  lawyer 
to  help  me,  I'll  do  without  one.  That  Frank  crit 
ter's  store  clothes  are  wuth  somethin',  and,  if  I  can't 

210 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

get  nothin'  more,  I'll  rip  them  right  off  his  back. 
So  long,  fellers.  Keep  your  ear  to  the  ground  and 
you'll  hear  somethin'  drop." 

He  headed  for  the  door,  but  he  didn't  go  alone. 
The  rest  of  us  got  there  at  the  same  time,  and  I  — 
well,  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  me  that  opened  it. 
I  was  desperate,  and  I've  commanded  vessels  in  my 
time. 

Anyhow,  'twas  me  that  led  the  procession  up  the 
front  steps  of  the  "  Sign  of  the  Windmill  "  and  into 
the  dinin'-room.  The  two  waiters  was  busy.  They 
had  five  of  the  tables  set  end  to  end  and  covered  with 
cloths,  and  they  was  layin'  plates  and  knives  and 
forks  for  a  big  crowd.  'Twas  plain  that  special 
customers  was  expected. 

"  Mr.  Frank  in  his  office?  "  says  I,  headin'  for  the 
skipper's  cabin.  The  waiters  looked  at  each  other 
and  jabbered  in  some  sort  of  foreign  lingo. 

"  No,  sare,"  says  one  of  'em.  "  No,  sare. 
Meester  Frank,  he  is  away  —  out." 

"  Away  out,  hey?  "  says  I.  "  You're  wrong,  son. 
We're  the  ones  that  are  out,  but  we  ain't  goin'  to 
be  out  another  cent's  wuth.  Come  on,  boys,  we'll 
find  him." 

You  can  see  I  was  mighty  mad,  or  I  wouldn't  have 
been  so  reckless.  I  walked  acrost  that  dinin'-room 
and  flung  open  the  office  door.  Frank  himself  wa'n't 
there,  but  who  should  be  settin'  at  his  roll-top  desk, 

211 


THE  POSTMASTER 

but  the  fleshy,  dark-complected  stewardess  woman. 
She  glowered  at  me,  ugly  as  a  settin'  hen. 

"  This  is  a  private  room,"  she  snaps. 

"  I  know,  ma'am,"  says  I;  "  but  the  business  we've 
come  on  is  sort  of  private,  too.  Come  in,  boys." 

The  seven  of  'em  come  in  and  they  filled  that 
office  plumb  full.  The  stewardess  woman's  black 
eyes  opened  and  then  shut  part  way.  But  there  was 
fire  between  the  lashes. 

''What  do  you  mean  by  comin'  in  here?"  says 
she.  "  And  what  do  you  want?  " 

The  rest  of  the  fellers  looked  at  me,  so  I  answered. 

"  Ma'am,"  says  I,  "  we  don't  want  nothin'  of  you 
and  we're  sorry  to  trouble  you.  We've  come  to  see 
Mr.  Frank  on  a  matter  of  business,  important  busi 
ness —  that  is,  it's  important  to  us." 

"  Mr.  Frank  is  out,"  says  she.  "  You  must  call 
again.  Good  day." 

She  turned  back  again  to  the  desk,  but  none  of 
us  moved. 

"Out,  is  he?"  says  I.  "Well  then,  I  cal'late 
we'll  wait  till  he  comes  in." 

"  He  is  out  of  town.  He  won't  be  in  till  to- 
morrer,"  she  snaps. 

I  looked  'round  at  the  rest  of  the  crowd.  Every 
one  of  'em  nodded. 

"  Well,  then,  ma'am,"  I  says,  "  I  cal'late  we'll 
stay  here  and  wait  till  to-morrer." 

212 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

That  shook  her.  She  got  up  from  the  desk  and 
turned  to  face  us.  If  I'm  any  judge  of  a  temper 
she  had  one,  and  she  .was  holdin'  it  in  by  main 
strength. 

"  You  may  tell  me  your  business,"  she  says.  "  I 
am  Mr.  Frank's  —  er  —  secretary." 

So  I  told  her.  "  We've  waited  for  our  money 
long  as  we  can,"  says  I.  "  None  of  us  are  well-off 
and  every  one  of  us  needs  what's  owin'  him.  We've 
called  and  we've  wrote.  Now  we're  goin'  to  stay 
here  till  we're  paid.  Of  course,  ma'am,  I  realize 
'tain't  none  of  your  affairs,  and  we  ain't  goin'  to 
make  you  any  more  trouble  than  we  can  help.  We'll 
just  set  down  on  the  piazza  or  in  the  dinin'-room  or 
somewheres  and  wait  for  your  boss,  that's  all." 

I  said  that,  'cause  I  didn't  want  her  to  think  we 
had  anything  against  her  personal.  I  cal'lated 
'twould  smooth  her  down,  but  it  didn't.  She  looked 
as  if  she'd  like  to  murder  us,  every  livin'  soul. 

"  You  get  out  of  here!  "  she  screamed,  her  hands 
openin'  and  shuttin'.  "  You  get  right  out  of  here 
this  minute !  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "  we'll  get  out  of  your 
office,  of  course.  Further'n  that  you'll  have  to  ex 
cuse  us.  We're  goin'  to  stay  right  in  this  house  till 
we  see  Mr.  Frank." 

"I'll  put  you  out!"  she  sputtered.  "I'll  have 
the  waiters  put  you  out." 

213 


THE  POSTMASTER 

I  thought  of  them  two  puny  lookin'  waiters  and, 
to  save  me,  I  couldn't  help  smilin'.  You'd  think 
she'd  have  seen  the  ridic'lous  side  of  it,  too,  but 
apparently  she  didn't,  for  she  bust  right  through 
between  Alpheus  and  me  and  rushed  into  the  dinin'- 
room. 

"  Boys,"  says  I,  to  the  crowd,  "  maybe  we'd  bet 
ter  step  out  of  here.  We  may  need  more  room." 

She  was  in  the  dinin'-room  talkin'  foreign  lan 
guage  in  a  blue  streak  to  the  waiters.  They  was 
lookin'  scared  and  spreadin'  out  their  hands  and 
hunchin'  their  shoulders. 

"  Ma'am,"  says  I,  "  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  do 
nothin'  foolish.  We  ain't  goin'  and  we  won't  be 
put  out,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  we  won't  make  any 
fuss.  We'll  just  set  down  here  and  wait  for  the 
boss,  that's  all.  Set  down,  boys." 

So  all  hands  come  to  anchor  on  chairs  around  that 
dinin'-room  and  grinned  and  looked  silly  but  de 
termined.  The  stewardess  glared  at  us  some  more 
and  then  rushed  off  upstairs.  In  a  minute  she  was 
back  with  her  hat  on. 

"You  wait!"  says  she.  "You  just  wait!  I'll 
put  you  in  prison !  I'll  —  Oh  — "  The  rest  of  it 
was  French  or  Italian  or  something  but  we  didn't 
need  an  interpreter.  She  shook  her  fists  at  us  and 
run  down  the  front  steps  and  away  up  the  road. 

"  Well,  gents  all,"  says  I,  "  man  born  of  woman 
214 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

is  of  few  days  and  full  of  trouble.  To-day  we're 
here  and  to-morrer  we're  in  jail,  as  the  sayin'  is. 
Anybody  want  to  back  out?  Now's  the  accepted 
time." 

Nobody  backed.  The  two  waiters  went  on  with 
their  table  settin'  and  we  set  and  watched  'em. 
'Twas  the  queerest  Sunday  mornin'  ever  I  put  in. 
By  and  by  Alpheus  got  uneasy  and  wandered  away 
out  towards  the  kitchen.  In  a  few  minutes  back 
he  comes,  b'ilin'  mad. 

"  Say,  fellers,"  he  sung  out.  "  Do  you  know 
what's  goin'  on  here?  There's  a  party  of  thirty 
folks  comin'  in  automobiles  for  dinner.  They're 
gettin'  the  dinner  ready  now.  And  if  we  don't  stop 
'em,  they'll  be  fed  with  our  stuff,  the  grub  we've 
never  got  a  cent  for.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel, 
but  I've  got  ten  dollar's  wuth  of  clams  and  lobsters 
in  this  eatin'-house  that  ain't  goin'  to  be  used  unless 
I  get  my  pay  for  'em.  You  can  do  as  you  please, 
but  I'm  goin'  to  stay  in  that  kitchen  and  watch  them 
lobsters  and  things." 

And  out  he  put,  headed  for  the  kitchen.  The 
rest  of  us  looked  at  each  other.  Then  Caleb  Bearse 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  determined,  "  there's  a  lot  of 
chops  and  roastin'  beef  and  steaks  out  aft  here  that 
belong  to  me.  None  of  them  go  to  feed  auto  folks 
unless  I  get  my  pay  fust." 

215 


THE  POSTMASTER 

And  he  started  for  the  kitchen.  Then  up  gets 
Ed  Cahoon  and  follers  suit. 

"  I've  got  six  or  eight  fowl  and  some  eggs  aboard 
this  craft,"  he  says.  "  I  cal'late  I'll  keep  'em  com 
pany." 

The  rest  of  us  never  said  nothin',  but  I  presume 
likely  we  all  thought  alike.  Anyhow,  inside  of  three 
minutes  we  was  all  out  in  that  kitchen  and  facin'  as 
mad  a  chief  cook  and  bottle  washer  as  ever  hailed 
from  France  or  anywheres  else.  You  see,  'twas 
time  to  put  the  lobsters  and  clams  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  truck  on  the  fire  and  we  wa'n't  willin'  to  see 
'em  put  there. 

The  chief  or  "  chef,"  or  whatever  they  called 
him,  fairly  hopped  up  and  down.  The  madder  he 
got  the  less  English  he  talked  and  the  less  every 
body  else  understood.  Bill  Bangs  done  most  of  the 
talkin'  for  our  side  and  he  had  the  common  idea  that 
to  make  foreigners  understand  you  must  holler  at 
'em.  Some  of  the  other  fellers  put  in  their  remarks 
to  help  along,  all  hollerin'  too,  and  such  a  riot  you 
never  heard  outside  of  a  darky  camp-meetin'. 
While  the  exercises  was  at  their  liveliest  the  tele 
phone  bell  rung.  After  it  had  rung  five  times  I 
went  into  the  other  room  to  answer  it.  When  I 
got  back  to  that  kitchen  I  got  Alpheus  to  one  side 
and  says  I : 

"  Al,"  I  says,  "  this  thing's  gettin'  more  inter- 
216 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

estin'  every  minute.  That  telephone  call  was  from 
the  man  that's  ordered  the  big  dinner  here  to-day. 
There's  thirty-two  in  his  party  and  they've  got  as 
far  as  Cohasset  Narrows  already.  They'll  be  here 
in  an  hour  and  a  half.  He  'phoned  just  to  let  me 
know  they  was  on  the  way." 

"Humph!"  says  he.  "What  did  he  say  when 
you  told  him  there  wouldn't  be  no  dinner?  " 

u  He  didn't  say  nothin',"  says  I,  "  because  I  didn't 
tell  him.  The  wire  was  a  bad  one  and  he  couldn't 
hear  plain,  so  he  lost  patience  and  rung  off.  Said 
I  could  tell  him  whatever  I  wanted  to  say  when  him 
and  his  party  got  here.  /  don't  want  to  tell  him 
anything.  You  can  explain  to  thirty-two  hungry 
folks  that  there's  nothin'  doin'  in  the  grub  line,  if 
you  want  to  —  I  don't." 

"  Humph !  "  he  says  again.  "  I  ain't  hankerin' 
for  the  job.  What  had  we  better  do,  Cap'n  Zeb, 
do  you  think?  " 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  I  cal'late  we'd  better  shorten 
sail  and  haul  out  of  the  race,  for  a  spell,  anyhow. 
At  any  rate  we'd  better  clear  out  of  this  kitchen  and 
leave  that  chef  and  the  rest  to  get  the  dinner.  I 
know  it's  our  stuff  that'll  go  to  make  that  dinner,  but 
I  don't  see's  we  can  help  it.  A  few  dollars  more 
won't  break  us  more'n  we're  cracked  already." 

But  he  waved  his  hand  for  me  to  stop.  "  No 
question  of  a  few  dollars  is  in  it.  It's  no  use,"  he 

217 


THE  POSTMASTER 

says,  solemn ;  "  you're  too  late.     The  Frenchman's 
quit." 

"Quit?"  says  I. 

"  Um-hm,"  says  he.  "  Bill  Bangs  told  him  that 
we  fellers  had  took  charge  of  this  road-house  and 
he  and  the  rest  of  the  kitchen  help  quit  right  then 
and  there.  They're  out  in  the  barn  now,  holdin' 
counsel  of  war,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  Bill  seems  to 
think  he's  done  a  great  piece  of  work,  but  I  don't." 

I  didn't  either;  and,  after  I'd  hot-footed  it  to  the 
barn  and  tried  to  pump  some  reason  and  sense  into 
that  chef  and  his  gang,  I  was  surer  of  it  than  ever. 
They  wouldn't  listen  to  reason,  not  from  us.  They 
wanted  to  see  the  boss,  meanin'  Mr.  Frank.  He 
was  the  one  that  had  hired  'em  and  they  wouldn't 
have  anything  to  say  to  anybody  else. 

I  come  back  to  the  kitchen  and  found  the  boys 
all  settin'  round  lookin'  pretty  solemn.  My  joke 
about  the  jail  wa'n't  half  so  funny  as  it  had  been. 
Bill  Bangs,  who'd  been  the  most  savage  outlaw  of 
us  all,  was  the  meekest  now. 

"  Say,  Cap'n,"  he  says  to  me,  nervous  like, 
"  hadn't  we  better  clear  out  and  go  home?  I  don't 
want  to  see  them  auto  people  when  they  get  here. 
And  —  and  I'm  scared  that  that  stewardess  has  gone 
after  the  sheriff." 

"  I  presume  likely  that's  just  where  she's  gone," 
says  I. 

218 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

"  Wh-what'll  we  do?  "  says  he. 

"  Don't  know,"  says  I.  "  But  I  do  know  that 
the  time  for  backin'  out  is  past  and  gone.  We 
started  out  to  be  pirates  and  now  it's  too  late  to 
haul  down  the  skull  and  cross-bones.  We've  got  to 
stand  by  our  guns  and  fight  to  the  finish,  that's  all  I 
see.  If  the  rest  of  you  have  got  anything  better  to 
offer,  I,  for  one,  would  be  mighty  glad  to  hear 
it." 

Everybody  looked  at  everybody  else,  but  nobody 
said  anything.  'Twas  a  glum  creditors'  meetin', 
now  I  tell  you.  We  set  and  stood  around  that 
kitchen  for  ten  minutes;  then  we  heard  voices  in  the 
dinin'-room. 

"Heavens  and  earth!"  sings  out  Ed  Cahoon. 
"  Who's  that?  It  can't  be  the  automobile  gang  so 
soon!  " 

It  wa'n't.  'Twas  a  parcel  of  women.  You  see, 
some  of  the  crowd  had  told  their  wives  about  the 
counsel  at  the  store  and  that,  more'n  likely,  we'd 
pay  a  visit  to  the  "  Sign  of  the  Windmill."  Church 
bein'  over,  they'd  come  to  hunt  us  up.  There  was 
Alpheus's  wife,  and  Cahoon's,  and  Bangs's,  and 
Bearse's,  and  Jerry  Doane's  daughter,  and  Mary 
Blaisdell.  They  was  mighty  excited  and  wanted  to 
know  what  was  up.  We  told  'em,  but  we  didn't 
hurrah  none  while  we  was  doin'  it. 

;'  Well,"  says  Matildy  Bangs,  "  I  must  say  you 
219 


THE  POSTMASTER 

men  folks  have  made  a  nice  mess  of  it  all.  Wil 
liam  Bangs,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 
What'll  I  do  when  you're  in  state's  prison?  How'm 
I  goin'  to  get  along,  I'd  like  to  know!  You  never 
think  of  nobody  but  yourself." 

Poor  Bill  was  about  ready  to  cry,  but  this  made 
him  mad.  "  Who  would  I  think  of,  for  thunder 
sakes !  "  he  sung  out.  "  I'm  the  one  that's  goin'  to 
be  jailed,  ain't  I?" 

Then  Mary  Blaisdell  took  me  by  the  arm.  Her 
eyes  were  sparklin'  and  she  looked  excited. 

"  Cap'n  Snow,"  she  whispered,  "  come  here  a 
minute.  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  I  have  an  idea." 

"  Lord !  "  says  I,  groanin',  "  I  wish  /  had.  What 
Is  it?" 

What  do  you  suppose  'twas?  Why,  that  we, 
ourselves,  should  get  up  the  dinner  for  the  auto  folks. 
Every  woman  there  could  cook,  she  said,  and  so 
could  some  of  the  men.  We'd  seized  the  stuff  for 
the  dinner  already.  It  was  ours,  or,  at  any  rate,  it 
hadn't  been  paid  for. 

"  We  can  get  'em  a  good  dinner,"  says  she.  "  I 
know  we  can.  And,  if  that  Frank  doesn't  come  back 
until  you  have  been  paid,  you  can  take  that  much 
out  of  his  bills.  If  he  does  come  no  one  will  be  any 
worse  off,  not  even  he.  Let's  do  it." 

I  looked  at  her.  As  she  said,  we  wouldn't  be  any 
worse  off,  and  we  might  as  well  be  hung  for  old 

220 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

sheep  as  lamb.     The  auto  folks  would  be  better  off4, 
they'd  have  some  kind  of  a  meal,  anyhow. 

We  had  a  grand  confab,  but,  in  the  end,  that's 
what  we  done.  Every  one  of  them  women  could 
cook  plain  food,  and  Mrs.  Cahoon  was  the  best  cake 
and  pie  maker  in  the  county.  We  divided  up  the 
job.  All  hands  had  somethin'  to  do,  includin'  me, 
who  undertook  a  clam  chowder,  and  Bill  Bangs,  who 
split  wood  and  lugged  water  and  cussed  and  groaned 
about  state's  prison  while  he  was  doin'  it. 

The  last  thing  was  ready  and  the  last  plate  set 
when  the  autos,  six  of  'em,  purred  and  chugged  up 
to  the  front  door.  We  expected  Frank,  or  the 
stewardess,  or  the  constable,  or  all  three  of  'em,  any 
minute,  but  they  hadn't  showed  up.  The  dinner 
crowd  piled  in  and  set  down  at  the  tables  and  the 
head  man  of  'em,  the  one  who  was  givin'  the  party, 
come  over  to  see  me.  And  who  should  he  turn  out 
to  be  but  the  stout  man  I'd  met  at  the  store.  The 
one  who  had  told  me  he'd  been  waitin'  for  a  chance 
to  get  even  with  Frank.  I  don't  know  which  was 
the  most  surprised  to  meet  each  other  in  that  place, 
he  or  I. 

"  Hello!  "  says  he.  "  What  are  you  doin'  here? 
You  joined  the  Forty  Thieves?  Where's  the  boss 
robber?" 

I  told  him  the  boss  was  out;  that  there  was  some 
complications  that  would  take  too  long  to  explain. 

221 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  But,  at  any  rate,"  says  I,  "  you're  meal's  ready, 
and  that's  the  main  thing,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  he,  "  it  is.  I've  got  a  crowd  of  New 
York  men  —  business  associates  of  mine  and  their 
wives  —  down  for  the  week  end  and  I  wanted  to 
give  'em  a  Cape  dinner.  I  never  would  have  come 
here,  but  the  Denboro  place  is  full  up  and  couldn't 
take  us  in.  I  hope  the  dinner  is  a  better  one  than 
the  last  I  had  in  this  place." 

I  told  him  not  to  expect  too  much,  but  to  set  and 
be  thankful  for  whatever  he  got.  He  didn't  under 
stand,  of  course,  but  he  set  down  and  we  commenced 
servin'  the  dinner. 

We  started  in  with  Little  Neck  quahaugs  and  fol 
lowed  them  up  with  my  clam  chowder.  Then  we 
jogged  along  with  bluefish  and  hot  biscuit  and 
creamed  potatoes.  After  them  come  the  lobsters 
and  corn  and  such.  Eat!  You  never  see  anybody 
stow  food  the  way  those  New  Yorkers  did. 

In  the  middle  of  the  lobster  doin's  I  bent  over  my 
fleshy  friend  and  asked  him  if  things  was  satisfac 
tory.  He  looked  up  with  his  mouth  full. 

"  Great  Scott !  "  says  he.  "  Cap'n,  this  is  the  best 
feed  I've  had  since  I  first  struck  the  Cape,  and  that 
was  ten  years  ago.  What's  happened  to  this  hotel  ? 
Is  it  under  new  management?  " 

I  didn't  feel  like  grinnin',  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  it  is  —  for  the  time  bein'." 
222 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

The  final  layer  we  loaded  that  crowd  up  with  was 
blueberry  dumplin'  and  they  washed  it  down  with, 
coffee.  Then  the  fat  man  —  his  name  was  John 
son  —  hauled  out  cigars  and  the  males  lit  and  started 
puffin'.  I  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to  see  how  things 
was  goin'  there. 

Mary  Blaisdell,  with  a  big  apron  tied  over  her 
Sunday  gown,  was  washin'  dishes.  Her  sleeves  was 
rolled  up,  her  hair  was  rumpled,  and  she  looked 
pretty  enough  to  eat  —  at  least,  I  shouldn't  have 
minded  tryin'. 

"How  was  it?"  she  asked.  "Are  they  satis 
fied?" 

"  If  they  ain't  they  ought  to  be,"  says  I.  "  And 
to-morrer  the  dyspepsy  doctors'll  do  business  enough 
to  give  us  a  commission.  But  where's  our  old  col 
lege  chum,  the  chef,  and  the  waiters  and  all  ?  " 

"  They're  in  the  barn,"  says  she.  "  They  tried 
to  come  in  here  and  make  trouble,  but  Mr.  Perkins 
wouldn't  let  'em.  He  drove  'em  back  to  the  barn 
again.  But  they're  dreadfully  cross." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  I  says.  "  Well,  goodness 
knows  what'll  come  of  this,  Mary,  but  — " 

Bill  Bangs  interrupted  me.  He  come  tearin'  out 
of  the  dinin'-room,  white  as  a  new  tops'l,  and  his 
eyes  pretty  close  to  poppin'  out  of  his  head. 

"  My  soul!  "  he  panted.  "  Oh,  my  soul,  Cap'n 
Zeb!  They're  comin'l  they're  comin' !  " 

223 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Who's  comin'  ?  "  I  wanted  to  know. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Frank,  and  that  stewardess !  And 
John  Bean,  the  constable,  is  with  'em.  What  shall 
I  do?  I'll  have  to  go  to  jail!  " 

He  was  all  but  cryin',  like  a  young  one.  I  left 
him  to  his  wife,  who,  judgin'  by  her  actions,  was 
cal'latin'  to  soothe  him  with  a  pan  of  hot  water,  and 
headed  for  the  front  porch.  However,  I  was  too 
late.  I  hadn't  any  more  than  reached  the  dinin'- 
foom,  where  all  the  comp'ny  was  still  settin'  at  the 
tables,  than  in  through  the  front  door  marches  Mr. 
Edwin  Frank  of  Pittsburg,  and  the  stewardess,  and 
John  Bean,  the  constable.  The  band  had  begun  to 
play  and  'twas  time  to  face  the  music. 

Frank  looked  around  at  the  crowd  at  the  tables, 
at  Mrs.  Cahoon,  and  Alpheus,  and  the  rest  who'd 
done  the  waitin';  and  then  at  me.  His  face  was 
fire  red  and  he  was  ugly  as  a  shark  in  a  weir  net. 

"Humph!"  says  he.  "What  does  this  mean? 
Snow,  what  high-handed  outrage  have  you  commit 
ted  on  these  premises?  " 

I  held  up  my  hand.  "Shh!"  says  I,  tryin'  to 
think  quick  and  save  a  scene;  "  Shh,  Mr.  Frank!  " 
I  says.  "  If  you'll  come  into  your  private  cabin 
I'll  explain  best  I  can.  Somebody  had  to  get  din 
ner  for  this  crowd.  Your  Frenchmen  wouldn't 
work,  so  we  did.  All  we've  used  is  our  grub,  that 
which  ain't  been  paid  for,  and — " 

224 


,  COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

His  teeth  snapped  together  and  he  was  so  mad 
he  couldn't  speak  for  a  second.  The  stewardess 
was  as  mad  as  he  was,  but  it  took  more'n  that  to 
keep  her  quiet. 

"  Fred,"  says  she  —  and  even  then,  upset  as  I  was, 
I  noticed  she  didn't  call  him  by  the  name  he  give 
Jacobs  and  me  — "  Fred,  have  him  arrested.  He's 
the  one  that's  responsible  for  it  all.  Officer,  you  do 
your  duty.  Arrest  that  Snow  there !  Do  you 
hear?" 

She  was  pointin'  to  me.  Poor  old  Bean  hadn't 
arrested  anybody  for  so  long  that  he'd  forgot  how, 
I  cal'late.  All  he  did  was  stammer  and  look  silly. 

"  Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  says,  "I  —  I'm  dreadful  sorry, 
but  — but— " 

Then  he  was  interrupted.  A  big,  tall,  gray-haired 
chap,  who  was  settin'  about  amidships  of  the  table, 
got  to  his  feet. 

"  Just  a  minute,  Officer,"  says  he,  quiet,  and  never 
lettin'  go  of  his  cigar,  "  just  a  minute,  please.  The 
—  er  —  lady  and  gentleman  you  have  with  you  are 
old  acquaintances  of  mine.  Hello,  Francis!  I'm 
very  glad  to  see  you.  We've  missed  you  at  the  Con- 
quilquit  Club.  This  meetin'  is  unexpected,  but  not 
the  less  pleasant." 

He  was  talkin'  to  the  Frank  man.  And  the  Frank 
man  —  well,  you  should  have  seen  him!  The  red 
went  out  of  his  face  and  he  almost  flopped  over  onto 

225 


THE  POSTMASTER 

the  floor.  The  stewardess  went  white,  too,  and  she 
grabbed  his  arm  with  both  hands. 

"My  Lord!  "  she  says,  in  a  whisper  like,  "  it's 
Mr.  Washburn!" 

"  Correct,  Hortense,"  says  the  gray-haired  man. 
"  You  haven't  forgotten  me,  I  see.  Flattered,  I'm 


sure." 


For  just  about  ten  seconds  the  three  of  'em  looked 
at  each  other.  Then  Frank  made  a  jump  for  the 
door  and  the  woman  with  him.  They  was  out  and 
down  the  steps  afore  poor  old  Bean  could  get  his 
brains  to  workin'. 

"  Stop  'em !  "  shouts  Washburn.  "  Officer,  don't 
let  'em  get  away !  " 

But  they'd  got  away  already.  By  the  time  we'd 
reached  the  porch  they  was  in  the  buggy  they'd  come 
in  and  flyin'  down  the  road  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

I  wiped  my  forehead. 

"Well!  "says  I,  "well!" 

Johnson  pushed  through  the  excited  bunch  and 
took  the  gray-haired  feller  by  the  arm. 

"  Say,  Wash,"  he  says,  "  you're  havin'  too  good 
a  time  all  by  yourself.  Let  us  in  on  it,  won't  you? 
Your  friends  are  goin'  some;  no  use  to  run  after 
them.  Who  are  they?" 

Washburn  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  and 
smiled.  He'd  been  cool  as  a  no'thwest  breeze  right 
along. 

226 


COOKS  AND  CROOKS 

"  Well,"  he  says,  "  the  masculine  member  used  to 
be  called  Fred  Francis.  He  was  steward  of  the  Con- 
quilquit  Country  Club  on  Long  Island  for  some 
time.  He  cleared  out  a  year  ago  with  a  thousand 
or  so  of  the  Club  funds,  and  we  haven't  been  able 
to  trace  him  since.  He  was  a  first-class  steward  and 
sharp  as  a  steel  trap  —  but  he  was  a  crook.  The 
woman  —  oh,  she  went  with  him.  She  is  his  wife." 


227 


CHAPTER  XII 

JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

A  WHOLE  month  more  went  by  afore  Jim 
Henry  Jacobs  was  well  enough  to  come 
home.  When  he  got  off  the  train  at  the 
Ostable  depot,  thin  and  white  and  lookin'  as  if  he'd 
been  hauled  through  a  knothole,  I  was  waitin'  for 
him.  Maybe  we  wa'n't  glad  to  see  each  other! 
We  shook  hands  for  pretty  nigh  five  minutes,  I  car- 
late.  I  loaded  him  into  my  buggy  and  drove  him 
down  to  the  Poquit  House  and  took  him  upstairs 
to  his  room,  which  had  been  made  as  comf'table  and 
cozy  as  it's  possible  to  make  a  room  in  that  kind  of 
a  boardin'-house. 

He  set  down  in  a  big  chair  and  looked  around 
him. 

"By  George,  Skipper!"  he  says,  fetchin'  a  long 
breath,  "  this  is  home,  and  I'm  mighty  glad  to  be 
here.  Where'd  all  the  flowers  come  from?  " 

"  Mary  is  responsible  for  them,"  I  told  him. 
"  She  thought  they'd  sort  of  brighten  up  things." 

"  They  do,  all  right,"  says  he,  grateful.  "  And 
now  tell  me  about  business.  How  is  everything?" 

228 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

I  told  him  that  everything  was  fine ;  trade  was  tip 
top,  and  so  on.  He  listened  and  was  pleased,  but 
I  could  see  there  was  somethin'  else  on  his  mind. 

"  There's  just  one  thing  more,"  he  said,  soon's 
he  got  the  chance.  "  I  knew  the  store  must  be  O. 
K. ;  your  letters  told  me  that.  But  —  er  —  but  — " 
tryin'  hard  to  be  casual  and  not  too  interested,  "  how 
is  Frank  doin'  with  his  restaurant?  How's  the 
'  Sign  of  the  Windmill '  gettin'  on?  " 

Then  I  told  him  the  whole  yarn,  almost  as  I've 
told  it  here.  He  listened,  breakin'  out  with  ex 
clamations  and  such  every  little  while.  When  I  got 
to  where  the  Washburn  man  told  who  Frank  and 
the  stewardess  was,  he  couldn't  hold  in  any  longer. 

"  A  crook!  "  he  sung  out.  "  A  crook !  And  she 
was  his  wifel  " 

"  So  it  seems,"  says  I.  "  And  that  ain't  all  of 
it,  neither.  You  remember  the  doctor  said  he'd 
drawn  his  account  out  of  the  Ostable  bank.  Yes. 
Well,  that  account  didn't  amount  to  much ;  he'd  used 
it  about  all,  anyway.  But  there  was  another  ac 
count  in  his  wife's  name  at  the  Sandwich  bank,  and 
that  was  fairly  good  size." 

"  Did  you  get  hold  of  that?  "  he  asked,  excited. 

"  No,  we  didn't.  'Twas  in  her  name  and  we 
wouldn't  have  touched  it,  if  we'd  wanted  to;  but  we 
didn't  get  the  chance.  She  drew  it  all  the  very  next 
mornin'  and  the  pair  of  'em  cleared  out.  I  judge 

229 


THE  POSTMASTER 

they'd  planned  to  skip  in  a  few  days  anyhow,  and 
our  creditors'  raid  only  hurried  things  up  a  little 
mite.  The  whole  thing  was  a  skin  game  —  Frank 
and  his  precious  wife  had  seen  ruination  comin'  on 
and  they'd  laid  plans  to  feather  their  own  nest  and 
let  the  rest  of  us  whistle.  We  ain't  seen  'em  from 
that  day  to  this." 

He  was  shakin'  all  over.  "You  ain't?"  he 
shouted,  jumpin'  from  the  chair.  "You  ain't? 
Why  not?  What  did  you  let  'em  get  away  for? 
Why  didn't  you  set  the  police  after  'em?  What 
sort  of  managin'  do  you  call  that?  I  —  I  — " 

"  Hush !  "  says  I,  surprised  to  see  him  act  so. 
"Hush,  Jim!  you  ain't  heard  tke  whole  of  it  yet. 
Our  bill  — " 

"  Bill  be  hanged  1  "  he  broke  in.  "  I  don't  care  a 
continental  about  the  bill.  I  invested  fifteen  hun 
dred  dollars  of  my  own  money  in  that  road-house, 
and  you  let  that  fakir  get  away  with  the  whole  of  it. 
You're  a  nice  partner !  " 

/  was  surprised  now,  and  a  good  deal  cut  up  and 
hurt.  'Twas  an  understandin'  between  us  —  not  a 
written  one,  but  an  understandin'  just  the  same  — 
that  neither  should  go  into  any  outside  deal  without 
tellin'  the  other.  We'd  agreed  to  that  after  the  row 
concernin'  Taylor  and  the  "  Palace  Parlors."  So  I 
was  surprised  and  hurt  and  mad.  But  I  held  in  well 
as  I  could. 

230 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

"That's  enough  of  that,  Jim  Henry!"  says  I. 
"  I'll  talk  about  that  later.  Now  I'll  tell  you  the 
rest  of  the  yarn  I  started  with.  After  that  critter 
who  called  himself  Frank,  but  whose  name,  it 
seemed,  was  Francis,  had  galloped  away  with  the 
stewardess  woman,  there  was  conslder'ble  excitement 
around  that  dinin'-room,  now  I  tell  you.  However, 
Johnson  and  Washburn  and  me  managed  to  get  to 
gether  in  the  private  office  and  I  told  'em  all  about 
how  we  come  to  be  there,  and  about  our  gettin'  their 
dinner,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  They  seemed  to  think 
'twas  funny,  laughed  liked  a  pair  of  loons,  but  I  was 
a  long  ways  from  laughin'. 

'  Well,  well,  well ! '  says  Johnson,  when  I'd  fin 
ished,  '  that's  the  best  joke  I've  heard  in  a  month 
of  Sundays.  You  sartinly  have  your  own  ways  of 
doin'  business  down  here,  Cap'n  Snow.  But  the  din 
ner  was  a  good  one  and  I'll  pay  you  for  it  now. 
How  much? ' 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  I  suppose  I  ought  to  get  what 
I  can  for  our  crowd  to  leave  with  their  wives  and 
relations  afore  we're  carted  to  jail.  Course  the  meal 
we  got  for  you  wa'n't  what  you  expected  and  I  can't 
charge  that  Frank  thief's  price  for  it;  but  I've  got 
to  charge  somethin'.  If  you  think  a  dollar  a  head 
wouldn't  be  too  much,  I  — ' 

"'A  dollar!'  says  both  of  'em.     'A  dollar!' 

"  '  Do  you  mean  that's  all  you'll  charge  ? '  says 
231 


THE  POSTMASTER 

Johnson.  *  A  dollar  for  that  dinner !  It  was  the 
best  — ' 

"  *  You  bet  it  was !  '  says  Washburn. 

"  '  Look  here!  '  goes  on  Johnson.  *  I  was  to  pay 
Frank,  or  whatever  his  real  name  is,  two-fifty  a  plate. 
Yours  was  wuth  three  of  any  meal  I  ever  got  here, 
but,  if  you  will  be  satisfied  with  the  contract  price  I 
made  with  him,  I'll  give  you  a  check  now.  And, 
Cap'n  Snow,  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice.  Now 
you've  got  this  hotel,  keep  it;  keep  it  and  run  it. 
If  you  can  furnish  dinners  like  this  one  every  day 
in  the  week  durin'  the  summer  and  fall  you'll  have 
customers  enough.  Why,  I'll  engage  twenty-five 
plates  for  next  Sunday,  myself.  I*ve  got  another 
week-end  party,  haven't  I,  Wash  ?  ' 

"  '  If  you  haven't  I  can  get  one  for  you,'  says 
Washburn.  '  Johnson's  advice  is  good,  Cap'n. 
Keep  this  place  and  run  it  yourself.  Don't  be  afraid 
of  Francis.  Confound  him!  I  ought  to  have  him 
jailed.  The  Club  would  pitch  me  out  if  they  knew 
I  had  the  chance  and  didn't  take  it.  But  I  won't, 
for  your  sake.  So  long  as  he  doesn't  trouble  you 
I'll  keep  quiet.  But  if  he  does  trouble  you,  if  he 
ever  comes  back,  just  send  for  me.  However,  you 
won't  have  to  send ;  he'll  never  come  back.' 

"  And,"  says  I,  to  Jim  Henry,  "  he  ain't  ever 
come  back.  I  talked  the  matter  over  with  Mary 
and  Alpheus  and  a  few  of  the  others  and,  after  con- 

232 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

sider'ble  misgivin's  on  my  part,  we  reached  an  agree 
ment.  I  decided  to  run  the  '  Sign  of  the  Windmill ' 
myself.  We  bounced  the  chef  and  his  helpers  and 
the  foreign  waiters  and  hired  Alpheus's  wife  and 
Cahoon's  daughter  and  four  or  five  more.  We  fed 
ten  folks  that  next  day  and  they  all  said  they  was 
comin'  again.  They  did  and  they  fetched  others. 
The  upshot  of  it  is  that  all  that  hotel's  outstandin' 
bills  have  been  paid,  the  place  is  out  of  debt,  and 
the  outlook  for  next  season  is  somethin'  fine.  There, 
Jim  Henry,  that's  the  yarn.  I  went  through  Purga 
tory  because  I  figgered  that  you  had  trusted  the  store 
business  in  my  hands  and  the  Windmill's  bill  was  so 
large  and  I  thought  I  was  responsible  for  it.  If  I'd 
known  you'd  put  money  into  the  shebang  without 
tellin'  me,  your  partner,  a  word  about  it,  maybe  I'd 
have  felt  worse.  I  should  have  felt  worse  —  I  do 
now  —  but  in  another  way.  I  didn't  think  you'd 
do  such  a  thing,  Jim!  I  honestly  didn't." 

He'd  set  down  while  I  was  talkin'.  Now  he  got 
up  again. 

"  Skipper,"  he  says,  sort  of  broken,  "I  —  I  don't 
know  what  to  say  to  you.  I  — " 

"  It's  all  right,"  says  I,  pretty  sharp.  "  Your 
fifteen  hundred's  all  right,  I  cal'late.  The  furniture 
and  fixin's  are  wuth  that,  I  guess.  Is  there  anything 
else  you  want  to  ask  me?  If  not  I'm  goin'  to  the 


store." 


233 


THE  POSTMASTER 

I  was  turnin'  to  go,  but  he  stepped  for'ard  and 
stopped  me. 

"  Zeb,"  he  says,  his  face  workin',  "  don't  go  away 
mad.  I've  been  a  chump.  You  ought  to  hate  me, 
but  I  —  I  hope  you  won't.  I  was  a  fool.  I  thought 
because  you  was  country  that  you  hadn't  any  head 
for  business,  and  when  you  wouldn't  invest  in  that 
Windmill  proposition  I  was  sore  and  went  into  it 
myself.  My  conscience  has  plagued  me  ever  since. 
I'm  a  low-down  chump.  I  deserve  to  lose  the  fif 
teen  hundred  and  I'm  glad  I  did.  By  the  Lord 
Harry!  you've  got  more  real  business  instinct  than 
I  ever  dreamed  of." 

He  looked  so  sort  of  weak  and  sick  and  pitiful 
that  I  was  awful  sorry  for  him,  in  spite  of  every 
thing. 

"  Don't  talk  foolish,"  says  I.  "  You  ain't  lost 
your  money.  It's  yours  now;  at  least  I  don't  think 
Brother  Fred  George  Eben  Frank  Francis'll  ever 
turn  up  to  claim  it." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  much !  "  he  says. 
"  You  don't  suppose  I'll  take  a  share  in  that  hotel, 
after  you  and  your  smart  managin'  saved  it,  do  you? 
I  ain't  quite  as  mean  as  that,  no  matter  what  you 
think.  No,  sir,  you've  made  good  and  the  whole 
property  is  yours.  All  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  give 
me  another  chance.  If  I  live  I'll  show  you  how 
thankful  I  — " 

234 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

"  There !  there !  "  says  I,  all  upset,  "  don't  say 
another  word.  Of  course  we'll  hang  together  in 
this,  same  as  in  everything  else.  Shake,  and  let's 
forget  it." 

We  shook  hands  and  his  was  so  thin  and  white  I 
felt  worse  than  ever. 

"  Skipper,"  he  says,  "  I  can't  thank—" 

"  No  need  to  thank  me,"  I  cut  in.  "  If  you've 
got  to  thank  anybody,  thank  Mary  Blaisdell.  She's 
been  the  brains  of  that  eatin'-house  concern  ever 
since  I  took  hold  of  it.  She's  a  wonder,  that  woman. 
If  she'd  been  my  own  sister  she  couldn't  have  done 
more.  I  wish  she  was." 

He  looked  at  me,  pretty  queer. 

"  Skipper,"  says  he,  smilin',  "  if  you  wish  that 
you're  a  bigger  chump  than  I've  been,  and  that's 
sayin'  a  heap." 

What  in  the  world  he  meant  by  that  I  didn't  know 

—  but  I  didn't  ask  him.     Not  that  I  didn't  think. 
I'd  been  thinkin'  a  lot  of  foolish  things  lately,  but 
you  could  have  cut  my  head  oft  afore  I  said  'em  out 
loud,  even  to  myself. 

He  came  down  to  the  store  the  next  mornin'  and 
the  sight  of  it  seemed  to  be  the  very  tonic  he  needed. 
He  got  better  day  by  day  and  pretty  soon  was  his 
own  brisk  self  again.  "  The  Sign  of  the  Windmill  " 

—  by  the  way,  I'd  changed  the  name  on  my  own 
hook  and  'twas  the  "  Sign  of  the  Bluefish  "  now  — 

235 


THE  POSTMASTER 

done  fust  rate  all  through  the  fall  and  when  we 
closed  it  we  was  sure  that  next  summer  it  would  be 
a  little  gold  mine  for  us.  In  fact,  everything  in  the 
trade  line  looked  good,  by-products  and  all,  and  I 
ought  to  have  been  a  happy  man.  But  I  wa'n't  ex 
actly.  Somehow  or  other  I  couldn't  feel  quite  con 
tented.  I  didn't  know  what  was  the  matter  with 
me  and  when  I  hinted  as  much  to  Jacobs  he  just 
looked  at  me  and  laughed. 

"  You're  lonesome,  that's  what's  the  matter  with 
you,"  he  says.  "  You're  too  good  a  man  to  be 
boardin'  at  a  one-horse  ranch  like  the  Poquit." 

"  I'll  admit  that,"  says  I.  "  I'll  give  in  that  I'm 
next  door  to  an  angel  and  ought  to  wear  wings,  if 
it'll  please  you  any  to  have  me  say  so.  And  the 
Poquit  ain't  a  paradise,  by  no  means.  But  I've 
sailed  salt  water  for  the  biggest  part  of  my  life  and 
it  ain't  poor  grub  that  ails  me." 

'  Who  said  it  was?  "  says  he.  "  I  said  you  were 
lonesome.  You  ought  to  have  a  home." 

"  Old  Mans'  Home  you  mean,  I  s'pose.  Well, 
I  ain't  goin'  there  yet." 

He  laughed  again  and  walked  off. 

In  October  he  went  up  to  Boston  and  came  back 
with  his  head  full  of  new  ideas  and  his  pockets  full 
of  notions.  He'd  been  to  what  the  advertisements 
called  the  Industrial  Exhibition  in  Mechanics' 
Buildin'  up  there,  and  had  fetched  back  every  last 

236 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

thing  he  could  get  for  nothin'  and  some  few  that  he 
bought  cheap.  He  had  a  sample  trap  that,  accordin' 
to  the  circular,  would  catch  all  the  able-bodied  rats 
in  a  township  the  fust  night  and  make  all  the  crip 
pled  and  bedridden  ones  grieve  themselves  to  death 
of  disappointment  because  they  couldn't  get  into  it 
afore  closin'  hours.  And  he  had  the  Gunners' 
Pocket  Companion,  which  was  a  foldin'  hatchet  and 
butcher  knife,  with  a  corkscrew  in  the  handle;  and 
samples  of  "  cereal  coffee "  that  didn't  taste  like 
either  cereal  or  coffee;  and  safety  razors  that  were 
warranted  not  to  cut  —  and  wouldn't;  and  —  and  I 
don't  know  what  all.  These  was  side  issues,  how 
ever,  as  you  might  say.  What  he  was  really  en 
thusiastic  over  was  the  Eureka  Adjustable  Aluminum 
Window  Screen.  If  he'd  been  a  mosquito  he 
couldn't  have  been  more  anxious  about  them 
screens. 

"  They're  the  greatest  ever,  Skipper !  "  he  says 
to  me,  enthusiastic.  "  Fit  any  window;  can't  rust 
—  and  a  child  of  twelve  can  put  'em  up." 

"  That  part  don't  count,"  says  I.  "  Nowadays 
if  a  child  of  twelve  ain't  halfway  through  Harvard 
his  folks  send  for  the  doctor.  I  may  be  a  hayseed, 
but  I  read  the  magazines." 

He  went  right  along,  never  payin'  no  attention, 
and  pralsin'  up  them  screens  as  if  he  was  nominatin' 
'em  for  office.  Finally  he  made  proclamation  that 

237 


THE  POSTMASTER 

he'd  applied  —  in  the  store  name,  of  course  —  for 
the  Ostable  County  agency  for  Jem. 

"  But  why?  "  says  I.  "  We've  got  an  adjustable 
screen  agency  now.  And  they're  good  screens,  too. 
No  mosquito  can  get  through  them  —  unless  it  takes 
to  usin'  a  can-opener,  which  wouldn't  surprise  me  a 
whole  lot." 

"  I  know  they  are  good  screens,"  says  he ;  "  but 
there's  nothin'  new  or  novel  about  'em.  And,  I 
tell  you,  Cap'n  Zeb,  it's  novelty  that  catches  the  coin. 
We  want  to  get  the  contract  for  screenin'  that  new 
hotel  at  West  Ostable.  It'll  be  ready  in  a  couple  of 
months  and  there's  two  hundred  rooms  in  it.  Let's 
say  there  are  two  windows  to  a  room;  that's  four 
hundred  screens  —  besides  doors  and  all  the  rest. 
That  hotel  will  need  screens,  won't  it?  " 

"  Need  'em!  "  says  I.  "  In  West  Ostable!  In 
among  all  them  salt  meadows  and  cedar  swamps! 
It'll  need  screens  and  nettin's  and  insect  powder  and 
'intment — and  even  then  nobody  but  the  hard-of- 
hearin'  bo'rders'll  be  able  to  sleep  on  account  of  the 
hummin'.  Need  screens!  That  hotel!  My  soul 
and  body!  " 

Well,  then,  we  must  get  the  contract  —  that's  all. 
It  was  well  wuth  the  trouble  of  gettin'.  And  with 
the  Adjustable  Aluminum  to  start  with,  and  he,  Jim 
Henry,  to  do  the  talkin',  we  would  get  it.  He'd 
applied  for  the  county  agency  and  the  Adjustable 

238 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

folks  had  about  decided  to  give  it  to  him.  They'd 
write  and  let  us  know  pretty  soon. 

A  week  went  by  and  we  didn't  hear  a  word. 
Then,  on  the  followin'  Monday  but  one,  come  a 
letter.  Jim  Henry  was  openin'  the  mail  and  I  heard 
him  rip  loose  a  brisk  remark. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  says  I. 

"  Matter !  "  he  snarls.  "  Why,  the  miserable 
four-flushers  have  turned  me  down  —  that's  all. 
Read  that!" 

I  took  the  letter  he  handed  me.  It  was  type 
wrote  on  a  big  sheet  of  paper,  with  a  printed  head, 
readin' :  "  Ormstein  &  Meyer,  Hardware  and 
Tools.  Manufacturers  of  Eureka  Adjustable  Alu 
minum  Window  Screens."  And  this  is  what  it  said: 

Mr.  J.  H.  Jacobs, 

Ostable  Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes  and 
Fancy  Goods  Store,  Ostable,  Mass. 

DEAR  SIR:  Regarding  your  application  for  Osta 
ble  County  ag'y  Eureka  Adjustable  Aluminum  Win 
dow  Screens,  would  say  that  we  have  decided  to  give 
ag'y  to  party  named  Geo.  Lentz,  who  will  give  en 
tire  time  to  it  instead  making  it  a  side  issue  as  per 
your  conversation  with  our  Mr.  Meyer.  Regretting 
that  we  cannot  do  business  together  in  this  regard, 
but  trusting  for  a  continuance  of  your  valued  patron 
age,  we  remain  Yours  truly, 

ORMSTEIN  &  MEYER. 
Die.  M  —  L.  G. 

239 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  snaps  Jim, 
mad  as  he  could  stick.  "  What  do  you  think  of 
that!" 

"  Well,"  says  I,  slow,  "  I  think  that,  speakin'  as 
a  man  in  the  crosstrees,  it  looks  as  if  you  and  me 
wouldn't  furnish  screens  for  the  West  Ostable  Ho 
tel." 

He  half  shut  his  eyes  and  stared  at  me  hard. 

"Oh!"  says  he.  "That's  what  you  think, 
hey?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  says.     "  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  No !  "  he  sings  out,  so  loud  that  'Dolph  Cahoon, 
our  new  clerk,  who'd  been  half  asleep  in  the  lee  of 
the  gingham  and  calico  dressgoods  counter,  jumped 
up  and  stepped  on  the  store  cat.  The  cat  beat 
for  port  down  the  back  stairs,  whoopin'  comments, 
and  'Dolph  begun  measurin'  calico  as  if  he  was 
wound  up  for  eight  days. 

"  No !  "  says  Jacobs  again,  soon  as  the  cat's  opin 
ion  of  'Dolph  had  faded  away  into  the  cellar  — 
"  No !  "  he  says.  "  I  don't  think  it  at  all.  We 
may  not  sell  Eureka  Adjustables  to  that  hotel,  but 
we'll  sell  screens  to  it  —  and  don't  you  forget  that. 
I'll  make  it  my  business  to  get  that  contract  if  I 
don't  do  anything  else.  I'm  no  quitter,  if  you  are !  " 

"  Nary  quit !  "  says  I.  "  I'll  stand  by  to  pull 
whatever  rope  I  can;  but  it  does  seem  to  me  that 
this  agent,  whoever  he  is,  will  have  an  eye  on  that 

240 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

hotel.     And,    accordin'   to  your  accounts,   he's   got 
better  goods  than  we  have." 

"  Maybe.  But  if  he's  a  better  salesman  than  I 
am  he'll  have  to  go  some  to  prove  it.  I'll  beat  him, 
by  fair  means  or  foul,  just  to  get  even.  That's  a 
promise,  Skipper,  and  I  call  you  to  witness  it." 

"  Wonder  who  this  Geo.  Lentz  is,"  says  L 
"  'Tain't  a  Cape  name,  that's  sure." 

"  I  don't  care  who  he  is.  I  only  wish  he'd  have 
the  nerve  to  come  into  this  store  —  that's  all.  He'd 
go  out  on  the  fly  —  I  tell  you  that !  And  that's  an 
other  promise." 

Maybe  'twas;  but,  if  so —  However,  I'm  a  lit 
tle  mite  ahead  of  myself;  fust  come  fust  served,  as 
the  youngest  boy  said  when  the  father  undertook  to 
thrash  the  whole  family.  The  fust  thing  that  hap 
pened  after  our  talk  and  the  Eureka  folks'  letter  was 
Jim  Henry's  goin'  over  to  West  Ostable  to  see 
Parkinson,  the  hotel  man.  He  went  in  the  new  run 
about  automobile  that  he'd  bought  since  he  got  back 
from  the  West,  and  was  gone  pretty  nigh  all  day. 
When  he  got  back  he  was  hopeful  —  I  could  see 
that. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  "  I've  laid  the  cornerstone. 
I've  talked  the  Nonesuch  " —  that  was  the  brand  of 
screen  we  carried  — "  to  beat  the  cars ;  and  we'll  have 
a  show  to  get  in  a  bid,  at  any  rate.  It'll  be  six  weeks 
more  afore  the  contract's  given  out,  and  meantime 

241 


THE  POSTMASTER 

yours  truly  will  be  on  the  job.  If  our  old  college 
chum,  G.  Lentz,  Esquire,  don't  hustle  he'll  be  left  at 
the  post." 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  is  this  Parkinson  man?" 
I  asked. 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right;  big  and  fat  and  good-natured. 
A  good  feller,  I  should  say.  Likes  automobilin', 
too,  and  thinks  my  car  is  a  winner." 

"  Married,  is  he?  "  says  I. 

"  No;  he's  a  widower.     That's  a  good  thing,  too." 

"  Why?     What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  A  whole  lot.  If  he  was  married  I'd  have  to 
take  Mrs.  P.  along  on  our  auto  rides;  and  —  let 
alone  the  fact  that  there  wouldn't  be  room  —  she'd 
want  to  talk  scenery  instead  of  screens.  Women 
and  business  don't  mix.  That's  one  reason  why  I've 
never  married." 

I  couldn't  help  thinkin'  of  some  of  the  hints  he'd 
been  heavin'  at  me  —  the  "  home"  remarks  and  so 
on  —  but  I  never  said  nothin'. 

This  was  a  Tuesday.  And  when,  on  Thursday 
afternoon,  I  walked  into  the  store,  after  havin'  had 
dinner  at  the  Poquit,  I  found  'Dolph  Cahoon  —  our 
new  clerk  I've  mentioned  already  —  leanin'  grace 
ful  and  easy  over  the  candy  counter  and  talkin'  with 
a  young  woman  I'd  never  seen  afore.  I  didn't  look 
at  her  very  close,  but  I  got  a  sort  of  general  observa 
tion  as  I  walked  aft  to  the  post-office  department; 

242 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

and,  sifted  down,  that  observation  left  me  with  re 
membrances  of  a  blue  serge  jacket  and  skirt,  cut 
clipper  fashion  and  fittin'  as  if  they  was  built  for  the 
craft  that  was  in  'em;  a  little  blue  hat  —  a  real  hat; 
not  a  velvet  tar  barrel  upside  down  —  with  a  little 
white  gull's  wing  on  it;  brown  eyes  and  brown  hair, 
and  a  white  collar  and  shirtwaist.  I  didn't  stop  to 
hail,  you  understand;  but  I  judged  that  the  stranger's 
home  port  wa'n't  Ostable  or  any  of  the  Cape  towns. 
Ostable  outfitters  don't  rig  'em  that  way. 

I  come  in  the  side  door,  and  'Dolph  or  his  cus 
tomer  didn't  notice  me.  The  young  woman  was 
lookin'  into  the  showcase;  and,  as  for  'Dolph,  he 
wouldn't  have  noticed  the  President  of  the  United 
States  just  then.  He  was  twirlin'  his  red  mustache 
with  the  hand  that  had  the  rock-crystal  ring  on  the 
finger  of  it,  and  his  talk  was  a  sort  of  sugared  purr 
—  at  least,  that's  the  nighest  description  of  it  that 
I  can  get  at. 

I  set  down  in  my  chair  at  the  postmaster's  desk 
and  begun  to  turn  over  some  papers.  Mary  had 
gone  to  dinner  and  Jim  Henry  was  away  in  his  auto ; 
so  I  was  all  alone.  I  turned  over  the  papers,  but  I 
couldn't  get  my  mind  on  'em  —  the  talk  outside  was 
too  prevailing  so  to  speak. 

'Dolph  was  doin'  the  heft  of  it.  The  young 
woman's  answers  was  short  and  not  too  interested. 
'Dolph  was  remarkin'  about  the  weather  and  what 

243 


THE  POSTMASTER 

a  dull  winter  we'd  had,  and  how  glad  he'd  be  when 
spring  really  set  in  and  the  summer  folks  begun  to 
come  —  and  so  on. 

"  Really,"  says  he,  and  though  I  couldn't  see  him 
I'd  have  bet  that  the  mustache  and  ring  was  doin' 
business  — "  Really,"  he  says,  "  there's  a  dreadful 
lack  of  cultivated  society  in  this  town,  Miss  —  er  — " 

He  held  up  here,  waitin',  I  judged,  for  the  young 
woman  to  give  her  name.  However,  she  didn't;  so 
he  purred  ahead. 

"  There's  so  few  folks,"  he  says,  "  for  a  young 
feller  like  me  —  used  to  the  city  —  to  associate  with. 
This  is  a  jay  place  all  right.  I'm  only  here  tem 
porary.  I  shall  go  back  to  Brockton  in  the  fall,  I 
guess." 

/  guessed  he'd  go  sooner;  but  I  kept  still. 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  remain  here  for  some  time  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Possibly,"  says  the  girl. 

"  I'm  'fraid  you'll  find  it  pretty  dull,  won't  you?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  introduce  you  to  the  folks 
that  are  worth  knowin'.  Are  you  fond  of  dancin'? 
There's  a  subscription  ball  at  the  town  hall  to-night." 

This  was  what  a  lawyer'd  call  a  leadin'  question, 
seemed  to  me;  but  the  answer  didn't  seem  to  lead  to 
anything  warmer  than  the  North  Pole.  The  young 
woman  said,  "  Indeed?  "  and  that  was  all. 

244 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

"  I'm  perfectly  dippy  about  waltzin',"  says  'Dolph. 
"By  the  way,  won't  you  have  some  confectionery? 
These  chocolates  are  pretty  fair." 

I  riz  to  my  feet.  I  don't  mind  bein'  a  philanthro 
pist  once  in  a  while,  but  I  like  to  do  my  philanthropin' 
fust-hand.  And  them  chocolates  sold  for  sixty  cents 
a  pound ! 

I  had  my  hand  on  the  doorknob.  Just  as  I  turned 
it  I  heard  the  young  woman  say,  crisp  and  cold  as  a 
fresh  cucumber: 

"  Pardon  me,  but  will  your  employer  be  in  soon  ? 
If  not  I'll  call  again  —  when  he  is  in." 

"  You  won't  have  to,"  says  I,  steppin'  out  of  the 
post-office  room  and  walkin'  over  toward  the  candy 
counter.  "  One  of  him's  in  now.  'Dolph,  you  can 
put  them  chocolates  back  in  the  case.  Oh,  yes  — 
and  you  might  associate  yourself  with'the  broom  and 
waltz  out  and  sweep  the  front  platform.  It's  been 
needin'  your  cultivated  society  bad." 

The  rest  of  that  clerk's  face  turned  as  red  as  his 
mustache,  and  the  way  he  slammed  the  chocolate 
box  into  the  showcase  was  a  caution !  Then  I  turned 
to  the  young  woman,  who  was  as  sober  as  a  deacon, 
except  for  her  eyes,  which  were  snappin'  with  fun, 
and  says  I : 

*  You  wanted  to  see  me,  I  believe,  miss.  My 
name's  Zebulon  Snow  and  I'm  one  of  the  partners 
in  this  jay  place.  What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

245 


THE  POSTMASTER 

She  waited  until  'Dolph  and  the  broom  had  moved 
out  to  the  platform.  Then  she  turned  to  me  and  she 
says: 

"  Captain  Snow,"  she  says,  "  I  understand  that 
your  firm  here  is  intendin'  puttin'  in  a  bid  for  the 
window  screens  at  the  new  hotel  at  West  Ostable. 
Is  that  so?" 

I  was  consider'ble  surprised,  but  I  didn't  see  any 
reason  why  I  shouldn't  tell  the  truth. 

"Why,  yes,  ma'am,"  says  I;  "we  are  figgerin' 
on  the  job.  Are  you  interested  in  that  hotel?  If 
you  are  I'd  be  glad  to  show  you  samples  of  the 
Nonesuch  screen.  We  cal'late  that  it's  a  mighty 
slick  article." 

She  smiled,  pretty  as  a  picture. 

"  I  am  interested  in  the  hotel,"  she  says;  "  and  in 
screens,  though  not  exactly  in  the  way  you  mean, 
perhaps.  Here  is  my  card." 

She  took  a  little  leather  wallet  out  of  her  jacket- 
pocket  and  handed  me  a  card.  I  took  it.  'Twas 
printed  neat  as  could  be;  but  it  wa'n't  the  neatness 
of  the  printin'  that  set  me  all  aback,  with  my  can 
vas  flappin' — 'twas  what  that  printin'  said: 


GEORGIANNA  LENTZ 


OSTABLK  COUNTY  AGENT  FOB  THE 
EUREKA  ADJUSTABLE  ALUMINUM  WINDOW  SCREEN 


246 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

«  What  ?  —  What !  —  Hey  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  she. 

"  Agent  for  the  Eureka  Adjusta  —     You !  " 

"  Why,  yes;  of  course.  The  Eureka  people  wrote 
you  that  they  had  given  me  the  agency,  didn't 
they?" 

I  rubbed  my  forehead. 

"  They  wrote  my  partner  and  me,"  I  stammered, 
"  that  they'd  given  it  to  —  to  a  feller  named  George 
—  er  —  that  is  — " 

"  Not  George  —  Georgianna.  Oh,  I  see!  They 
abbreviated  the  name  and  so  you  thought —  Of 
course  you  did.  How  odd !  " 

She  laughed.  I'd  have  laughed  too,  maybe,  if 
I'd  had  sense  enough  to  think  of  it;  but  I  hadn't,  just 
then. 

'  You  the  agent !  "  says  I.     "A  —  a  woman !  " 

"  Yes." 

"But  —  but  a  woman!" 

"  Well?  "  pretty  crisp.  "  I  admit  I  am  a  woman; 
but  is  that  any  reason  why  I  should  not  sell  window 
screens?  " 

I  rubbed  my  forehead  some  more.  These  are 
progressive  days  we're  livin'  in,  aad  sometimes  I  have 
to  hustle  to  keep  abreast  of  'em. 

"Why,  no,"  says  I,  slow;  "I  cal'late  'tain't.  I 
suppose  there's  no  law  against  a  woman's  sellin' 
'most  any  article  that  is  salable,  window  screens 

247 


THE  POSTMASTER 

or  anything  else  if  she  wants  to;  but  I  can't 
see  — " 

"  Why  she  should  want  to  ?  Perhaps  not.  How 
ever,  we  needn't  go  into  that  just  now.  The  fact  is 
I  do  want  to  and  intend  to.  I  have  secured  a 
boardin'  place  here  in  Ostable  and  shall  make  the 
town  my  headquarters.  This  is  a  small  community 
and  one  naturally  prefers  to  be  friendly  with  all  the 
people  in  it.  So,  after  thinkinV  the  matter  over,  I 
decided  that  it  was  best  to  begin  with  a  clear  under- 
standin'.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"I  —  I  guess  so.  Heave  ahead;  I'll  do  my  best 
to  keep  you  in  sight.  If  the  weather  gets  too  thick 
I'll  sound  the  foghorn.  Go  on." 

"  I  am  naturally  desirous  of  securin'  the  hotel 
screen  contract.  So,  I  understand,  are  you.  I  have 
seen  Mr.  Parkinson,  the  hotel  man,  and  he  tells  me 
that  your  firm  and  mine  will  probably  be  the  only 
bidders.  Now  that  makes  us  rivals,  but  it  need  not 
necessarily  make  us  enemies.  My  proposition  is  this : 
You  will  submit  your  bid  and  I  will  submit  mine. 
The  party  submittin'  the  lowest  bid  —  quality  of 
product  considered  —  will  win.  I  propose  that  we 
let  it  go  in  that  way.  We  might,  of  course,  do  a 
great  many  other  things  —  might  attempt  to  bring 
influence  to  bear;  might  —  well,  might  cultivate  Mr. 
Parkinson's  acquaintance,  and  —  and  so  on.  You 
might  do  that  —  so  might  I,  I  suppose ;  but,  for  my 

248 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN' 

part,  I  prefer  to  make  this  a  fair,  honorable  business 
rivalry,  in  which  the  best  man  —  er  — " 

"  Or  woman,"  I  couldn't  help  puttin'  in. 

"  In  which  the  best  bid  wins.  I  have  already 
demonstrated  the  Eureka  for  Mr.  Parkinson's  benefit 
and  left  a  sample  with  him.  He  tells  me  that  you 
have  done  the  same  with  the  Nonesuch.  I  will  agree 

—  if  you  will  —  to  let  the  matter  rest  there,  submit- 
tin'   our  respective  bids  when  the  time  comes  and 
abidin'  by  the  result.     Now  what  do  you  say?  " 

'Twas  pretty  hard  to  say  anything.  I  wanted  to 
laugh;  but  I  couldn't  do  that.  If  there  ever  was 
anybody  In  dead  earnest  'twas  this  partic'lar  young 
woman.  And  she  wa'n't  the  kind  to  laugh  at  either. 
She  might  be  in  a  queer  sort  of  business  for  a  female 

—  but  she  was  nobody's  fool. 

"  Well,"  she  asks  again,  "  what  do  you  say?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I  can't  say  anything  very 
definite  just  this  minute,"  I  told  her.  "  I've  got  a 
partner,  and  naturally  I  can't  do  much  without  con- 
sultin'  him;  but  I  will  say  this,  though,"  noticin'  that 
she  looked  pretty  disappointed  — "  I'll  say  that,  fur's 
I'm  concerned,  I'm  agreeable." 

She  smiled  and,  as  I  cal'late  I've  said  afore,  her 
smile  was  wuth  lookin'  at. 

'  Thank  you  so  much,  Cap'n  Snow,"  she  says. 
"Then  we  shall  be  friends,  sha'n't  we?  Except  in 
business,  I  mean." 

249 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"I  hope  so  —  sartin,'  says  I.  "Now  it  ain't 
none  of  my  affairs,  of  course,  but  I  am  curious.  How 
did  you  ever  happen  to  take  the  agency  for  —  for 
window  screens  ?  " 

That  made  her  serious  right  off.  She  might  smile 
at  other  things,  but  not  at  her  trade;  that  was  life 
and  death  for  sure. 

"  I  took  it,"  she  says,  "  for  several  reasons.  My 
mother  died  recently  and  I  was  left  alone.  My 
means  were  not  sufficient  to  support  me.  I  have 
done  office  work,  typewriting  and  so  on,  for  some 
years;  but  I  felt  that  the  opportunities  in  the  posi 
tions  I  held  were  limited  and  I  determined  to  take 
up  sellin' —  that  is  where  the  larger  returns  are. 
Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  sartin." 

'  Yes.  I  knew  Mr.  Meyer  slightly  in  a  business 
way.  I  took  the  Eureka  screen  and  sold  it  on  com 
mission  about  Boston  for  a  time.  Then  I  applied 
for  the  Ostable  County  agency  and  got  it  —  that's 
all." 

"  I  see,"  says  I.  "  Yes,  yes.  Well,  I  must  say 
that,  for  a  girl,  you  — " 

She  interrupted  me  quick. 

"  I  don't  see  that  my  bein'  a  girl  has  anything  to 
do  with  it,"  she  says.  "  And  in  this  agreement  of 
ours,  if  it  is  made,  I  don't  wish  the  difference  of  sex 
considered  at  all.  This  is  a  business  proposition 

250 


JIM  HENRY  STARTS  SCREENIN* 

and  sex  has  nothin'  to  do  with  it.     Is  that  plain?" 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  consider-in',  "  it's  plain;  but  I  ain't 
sure  that — " 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  interrupts  — "  and  you  must  be. 
I  wish  to  be  treated  in  this  matter  exactly  as  if  I 
were  a  man.  I  wish  I  were  one !  " 

"  I  doubt  if  you'd  get  most  men  to  agree  with 
you  in  that  wish,"  I  says.  "  However,  never  mind. 
I'll  do  my  best  to  get  Mr.  Jacobs,  my  partner,  to 
say  '  Yes  '  to  your  proposal.  And  I  hope  you'll  do 
fust-rate,  even  if  we  are  what  you  call  rivals.  Drop 
in  any  time,  Miss  Georg  —  Georgianna,  I  mean." 

We  shook  hands  and  she  went  away.  I  went  as 
fur  as  the  platform  with  her.  When  I  turned  to  go 
in  again  I  noticed  'Dolph  Cahoon  starin'  after  her, 
with  his  eyes  and  mouth  open. 

"  Gosh  !  "  says  he,  grinnin'.  "  By  gosh !  She's 
a  peach!  Ain't  she,  Cap'n  Zeb?  " 

"Maybe  so,"  says  I,  pretty  short;  "  but  I  don't 
recollect  that  we  hired  you  as  a  judge  of  fruit.  Has 
that  broom  took  root  in  the  dirt  on  this  platform? 
Or  what  is  the  matter?" 


251 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHAT  CAME  THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

JACOBS  come  in  late  that  afternoon. 
"  Say,"  says  he,  "  there  was  a  sample  of  the 
Eureka  screen  in  Parkinson's  office  when  I  was 
there  just  now.     He  wouldn't  say  who  left  it  or 
anything  about  it.     When  I  asked  he  grinned  and 
winked.     That's  all.     Confound  his  fat  head!     Do 
you  know  where  it  came  from?" 

"I  can  guess,"  I  says;  and  then  I  told  him  the 
whole  yarn.  He  was  as  surprised  as  I  was  to  find 
out  that  Geo.  Lentz  was  a  female;  but  it  only  made 
him  madder  than  ever  —  if  such  a  thing's  possible. 

"  Wants  to  be  treated  like  a  man,  does  she?  "  he 
says.  "All  right;  we'll  treat  her  like  one.  She 
may  be  Georgianna,  but  she'll  get  just  what  was 
comin'  to  George." 

'  Then  you  won't  agree  to  puttin'  in  the  bids  and 
lettin'  it  go  at  that?  " 

"  I'll  agree  to  get  that  screen  contract,  all  right!  " 
says  he,  emphatic. 

I  was  kind  of  sorry  for  Miss  Lentz ;  but  Jim  Henry 
was  my  partner,  so  there  wa'n't  nothin'  more  fco  be 

252 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

said.  We  didn't  mention  the  subject  again  for  two 
days.  However,  I  did  hear  from  the  Eureka  agent 
durin'  that  time.  'Twas  'Dolph  that  I  got  my  news 
of  her  from.  I  was  tellin'  Mary  Blaisdell  about  her 
and  Cahoon  happened  to  be  standin'  by. 

"  So  she  boards  here  in  Ostable,"  says  Mary.  "  I 
wonder  where." 

Afore  I  could  answer  'Dolph  spoke  up.  "  She's 
stoppin'  at  Maria  Berry's,  down  on  the  Neck  Road," 
he  says. 

"  How  did  you  know?  "  I  asked. 

He  looked  sort  of  silly.  "  Oh,  I  found  out,"  says 
he,  and  walked  off. 

The  very  next  evenin',  as  I  was  strollin'  along  the 
sidewalk,  smokin'  my  good-night  pipe,  I  happened 
to  see  somebody  turn  the  corner  from  the  Neck  Road 
and  hurry  by  me.  I  thought  his  gait  and  build  were 
pretty  familiar,  so  I  turned  and  followed.  When  he 
got  abreast  the  lighted  windows  of  the  billiard  saloon 
I  recognized  him.  'Twas  'Dolph,  all  togged  out  in 
his  Sunday-go-to-meetin'  duds,  light  fall  overcoat 
and  all. 

"Humph!"  says  I  to  myself.  "  So  that's  how 
you  knew,  hey?  Been  callin'  on  her,  have  you? 
Well,  she  may  not  hanker  for  my  sympathy,  but  she 
has  it  just  the  same.  I  swan,  I  thought  she  had  bet 
ter  taste!  I'm  surprised!  " 

The  followin'  mornin',  however,  I  was  more  sur- 

253 


THE  POSTMASTER 

prised  still.  I  had  an  errand  that  made  me  late  at 
the  store.  When  I  came  in  who  should  I  see  talkin' 
together  but  Jacobs  and  a  young  woman;  the  young 
woman  was  Miss  Georgianna  Lentz.  They  ought 
to  have  been  quarrelin',  'cordin'  to  all  reasonable 
expectations;  but  they  wa'n't.  Fact  is,  they  seemed 
as  friendly  as  could  be.  You'd  have  thought  they 
was  old  chums  to  see  'em. 

Georgianna  sighted  me  fust. 

"  Good  mornin',  Cap'n  Snow,"  says  she.  "  Mr. 
Jacobs  and  I  have  made  each  other's  acquaintance, 
you  see." 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  doubtful.  "  I  see  you  have.  I 
cal'late  you  think  it's  kind  of  unreasonable,  our 
not—" 

Jim  Henry  cut  in  ahead  of  me  quick  as  a  flash. 

"  Miss  Lentz  and  I  have  been  goin'  over  the  mat 
ter  of  screens  for  Parkinson's  hotel,"  he  says.  "  I 
tell  her  that  her  proposition  suits  us  down  to  the 
ground." 

Over  I  went  on  my  beam-ends  again.  All  I  could 
think  of  to  say  was:  "Hey?" — and  I  said  that 
pretty  feeble. 

"  It  is  very  nice  of  you  to  do  this,"  says  Georgi 
anna.  "  It  makes  it  so  much  easier  for  me.  Of 
course,  when  I  decided  to  make  business  my  life- 
work,  I  realized  that  I  might  be  called  upon  to  do 
disagreeable  things  like  —  like  wire-pullin',  and  so 

254 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

on,  which  some  business  people  do;  but  honorable 
rivalry  is  so  much  better,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Sure  !  "  says  Jacobs,  prompt.     "  Yes,  indeed." 

"  So  it  is  all  settled,"  she  went  on.  "  Our  bids 
are  to  go  in  on  the  same  day;  and  meantime  neither 
of  us  is  to  call  on  Mr.  Parkinson  or  to  meet  him  — 
in  a  business  way,  I  mean." 

I  nodded,  bein'  still  too  upset  to  talk;  but  Jim 
Henry  spoke  quick  and  prompt. 

"  What  do  you  mean,"  he  asks  — "  in  a  business 
way?" 

''  Why,"  says  she  —  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  she 
reddened  a  little — "I  mean  that  —  well,  if  we 
should  meet  him  by  accident  we  wouldn't  talk  about 
screens  or  the  hotel  contract.  Of  course  one  can't 
help  meetin'  people  sometimes.  For  instance,  I 
happened  to  meet  Mr.  Parkinson  yesterday.  He 
had  driven  over  and  happened  to  be  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  house  where  I  board.  I  was  goin'  out  for 
a  walk,  and  he  stopped  his  horse  and  spoke." 

"  Oh,"  says  I,  "  he  did,  hey  ?  "  Jim  Henry  didn't 
say  nothin'. 

"  Yes,"  she  says;  "  but  I  didn't  talk  about  the  con 
tract.  Though  our  agreement  wasn't  actually  made 
then,  I  hoped  that  it  would  be.  Good  mornin';  I 
must  be  goin'." 

She  started  for  the  door,  but  she  turned  to  say 
one  more  thing. 

255 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Of  course,"  she  says,  decided,  "  it  is  understood 
that  you  haven't  agreed  to  my  proposal  simply  be 
cause  I  am  a  girl.  If  that  was  the  case  I  shouldn't 
permit  it.  I  insist  upon  bein*  treated  exactly  as  if 
I  were  a  man.  You  must  promise  that  —  both  of 
you." 

"  Sure !     Sure !     That's  understood,"  says  Jacobs. 

I  said  "  Sure !  "  too,  but  my  tone  wa'n't  quite  so 
sartin.  She  went  out,  Jim  Henry  goin'  with  her 
as  fur  as  the  door.  I  follered  him. 

"  Say,"  says  I,  "  next  time  you  turn  a  back  somer 
set  like  this  I'd  like  to  know  about  it  in  advance. 
I've  got  a  weak  heart." 

He  didn't  answer  me  at  all.  He  was  starin'  down 
the  road,  just  as  'Dolph  had  stared  when  the  Eureka 
agent  called  the  fust  time. 

"  Say,  Jim — "  says  I.  He  didn't  turn  or  move; 
didn't  seem  to  hear  me.  I  touched  him  on  the  shoul 
der  and  he  jumped  and  come  about. 

"Eh  — what?"  he  says. 

"  Nothin',"  says  I,  "  only  I  want  to  know  why  — 
that's  all." 

"Why?"  says  he.  "Oh!  —  you  mean  what 
made  me  change  my  mind?  Well,  I  just  thought  it 
over  and  decided  we  might  as  well  agree.  Agreein' 
don't  do  any  harm,  you  know.  Hey,  Skipper? 
Ha-ha !  " 

He  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder  and  laughed. 
256 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

The  laugh  seemed  too  big  for  the  joke  and  sounded 
a  little  mite  forced,  I  thought. 

"  Yes,  yes !  Ha-ha !  "  says  I.  "  But  your 
changin'  from  lion  to  lamb  so  sudden  — " 

"What  are  you  talkin'  about?  I've  got  a  right 
to  change  my  mind,  ain't  I  ?  " 

"  Sartin  sure.  But  you  was  so  set  on  gettin'  that 
contract." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  said  I  wasn't  goin'  to  get  it,  have 
I?  WVre  goin'  to  put  in  a  bid,  ain't  we?  What's 
the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  Nothin'  at  all ;  but  your  breakfast  don't  seem  to 
have  set  extry  well !  However,  it  takes  two  to  make 
a  row,  and  I'm  peaceful,  myself.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  rival  entry?  Kind  of  a  nice-appearin' 
girl  —  don't  you  think  so?  " 

He  whirled  round  and  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
thought  I  was  crazy. 

"  Nice-appearin' !  "  he  says.  "  Nice-ap  —  Why, 
she's—" 

Then  he  pulled  up  short  and  headed  for  the  back 
room. 

Nothin'  of  much  importance  happened  for  a  while 
after  that.  And  yet  there  was  somethin' — two  or 
three  somethin's  —  that  had  a  bearin'  on  the  case. 
One  was  the  change  in  'Dolph  Cahoon.  For  a  few 
days  after  that  night  I  met  him  on  the  road  he  was 
as  gay  and  chipper  as  a  blackbird  in  a  pear  tree  — • 

257 


THE  POSTMASTER 

happy  even  when  I  made  him  work,  which  was  sur- 
prisin'  enough.  And  then,  all  to  once,  he  turned 
glum  and  ugly.  Wouldn't  speak  and  seemed  to  be 
broodin'  over  his  troubles  all  day  long.  I  had  my 
suspicions;  and  so,  one  time  when  him  and  me  was 
alone,  I  hove  over  a  little  mite  of  bait  just  to  see 
if  he'd  rise  to  it. 

"  Seen  anything  of  the  Lentz  girl  lately?  "  I  asked, 
casual. 

"  Naw,"  says  he,  "  and  I  don't  want  to,  neither! 
She's  a  bird,  she  is !  Too  stuck  up  to  speak  to  com 
mon  folks.  Everybody's  gettin'  on  to  her  —  you 
bet !  She  won't  make  many  friends  in  this  town." 

I  grinned  to  myself.  Thinks  I :  "I  guess, 
young  man,  Georgianna's  handed  you  your  walkin' 
papers.  You  won't  go  down  the  Neck  Road  any 
more!" 

And  yet,  an  evenin'  or  so  after  that,  I  see  some 
body  go  down  that  road.  I  didn't  see  him  plain, 
but  I'd  have  almost  taken  my  oath  'twas  Jim  Henry 
Jacobs.  It  couldn't  be,  of  course  —  and  yet  — 

Well,  two  days  later,  I  took  back  the  "  yet."  I 
happened  to  be  standin'  at  the  side  door  of  the  store, 
lookin'  across  the  fields,  when  I  saw  an  auto  with 
two  people  in  it  sailin'  along  the  crossroad  from  the 
east'ard.  'Twas  a  runabout  auto  —  and  I  looked 
and  looked !  Then  I  called  to  'Dolph. 

"  'Dolph,"  says  I,  "come  here!  Who's  auto- 
258 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

mobile's  that?  If  I  didn't  know  Mr.  Jacobs  was 
off  takin'  orders  in  Denboro  I  should  say  'twas  his." 

'Dolph  looked. 

"  Humph!  "  says  he — "  'tis  his.  He's  drivin'  it 
himself.  But  who's  that  with  him?  What?  Well, 
by  gosh  !  if  it  ain't  that  stuck-up  Georgianna  Lentz !  " 

"  Get  out !  "  says  I.  "  The  softness  of  your  heart 
has  struck  to  your  head.  It's  likely  he'd  be  takin' 
her  to  ride,  ain't  it  I  " 

And  then  Jacobs  looked  up  and  sighted  us  standin' 
in  the  doorway.  His  machine  hadn't  been  goin' 
slow  afore  —  now  it  fairly  jumped  off  the  ground 
and  flew.  In  a  minute  there  was  nothin'  but  a  dust- 
cloud  in  the  offin'. 

He  came  in  about  noon.  I  didn't  say  nothin', 
but  I  guess  my  face  was  enough.  He  looked  at  me, 
turned  away  —  and  then  turned  back  again. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  loud  and  cheerful,  "  you  saw  us, 
didn't  you?  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you,  anyway,  soon 
as  I  got  the  chance." 

"  Oh,"  says  I,  "  I  want  to  know!  " 

"  Sure,  I  was.  Of  course  you  see  through  the 
game." 

"The  game?" 

"  Why,  yes,  yes !  The  game  I'm  playin' —  the 
game  that's  goin'  to  get  us  that  screen  contract! 
Oh,  I  wasn't  born  yesterday.  I  knew  a  thing  or 
two.  This  —  er  —  Lentz  girl  and  you  and  me  have 

259 


THE  POSTMASTER 

agreed  not  to  go  near  Parkinson  till  the  contract's 
given  out;  but  Parkinson  ain't  promised  not  to  go 
near  her!  He's  been  over  there  two  or  three  times 
lately,  and  that  won't  do.  He's  a  widower,  and  — " 

"A  widower!"  I  put  in.  "What's  that  got  to 
do  with  it?" 

"  Oh,  nothin' —  nothin'.  Just  a  joke,  that's 
all.  But  I  realized  right  away  that  she  and  he 
mustn't  be  together  or  he'll  make  her  talk  screens 
in  spite  of  herself,  and  that'll  be  dangerous  for  us. 
So,  says  I  to  myself,  '  Jim  Henry,'  says  I,  *  it's  up  to 
you.  You  must  keep  her  out  of  his  way.*  That's 
why  I've  been  goin'  to  see  her  once  in  a  while  and  — 
and  takin'  her  to  ride,  and  —  and  so  on.  See? 
Oh,  I'm  wise!  You  trust  your  old  doctor  of  sick 
businesses." 

He'd  been  talkin'  a  blue  streak.  Seemed  almost 
as  if  he  was  afraid  I'd  say  somethin'  afore  he  could 
say  it  all.  Now  he  stopped  to  get  his  breath  and 
I  put  in  a  word. 

"So,"  says  I,  slow,  "that's  why  you're  doin'  it, 
hey?  But  ain't  that —  You  know  you  promised 
to  treat  her  just  as  if  she  was  a  man!  " 

"Well,  ain't  I?"  he  snaps  —  hotter  than  was 
needful,  I  thought.  "  If  she  was  a  man  I'd  make 
it  my  business  to  keep  her  in  sight,  wouldn't  I? 
Well,  then !  I  never  saw  such  a  chap  as  you  are  for 
lookin'  for  trouble  when  there  isn't  any." 

260 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

He  stalked  off.  I  follered  him;  and  as  I  done  so 
I  noticed  'Dolph  Gaboon  duck  behind  the  calico 
counter.  I  judged  he'd  heard  every  word. 

The  finishin'  work  on  the  hotel  hustled  along  and 
inside  of  a  month  we  got  word  that  'twas  time  to 
put  in  our  bid.  Jacobs  and  I  figured  and  figured  till 
we  got  the  price  down  to  the  last  cent  we  thought 
it  could  stand,  and  then  we  sent  our  proposition  over 
to  Parkinson  by  mail. 

"  Wonder  if  Miss  Georgianna's  sent  hers  in,"  I 
says,  casual. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  Jim,  prompt;  "she  is  goin'  to 
mail  it  this  mornin'." 

I  didn't  ask  him  how  he  knew.  His  chasin'  round 
and  keepin'  watch  on  a  girl  who  was  as  fair-minded 
and  square  as  she  was  had  always  seemed  too  much 
like  spyin'  to  please  me,  and  I  cal'lated  he  knew  how 
I  felt  —  at  any  rate  he'd  scurcely  spoke  her  name 
since  the  day  when  I  saw  'em  autoin'  together.  But 
now  I  did  say  that,  so  long  as  the  bids  was  in,  it 
wouldn't  be  necessary  for  him  to  keep  his  eye  on  her 
any  longer. 

He  looked  at  me  kind  of  queer.  "  Umph !  "  he 
says;  "maybe  not!"  And  he  walked  away  to 
attend  to  a  customer. 

That  afternoon  he  took  his  car  and  went  off  on 
his  reg'lar  order  trip  to  Denboro  and  Bayport 
and  round.  'Dolph  Gaboon  and  I  was  alone  in  the 

261 


front  part  of  the  store.  'Dolph  seemed  to  be  in 
mighty  good  spirits  —  for  him  —  and  kept  chucklin' 
to  himself  in  a  way  I  couldn't  understand.  At  last 
he  says  to  me,  lookin'  back  to  be  sure  that  Mary 
Blaisdell,  in  the  post-office  department,  couldn't 
hear  — 

"  Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  says,  "  what  would  you  give  the 
feller  that  got  the  screen  contract  for  you?  " 

"  Give  him  ?  "  I  says.  "  What  feller  do  you  mean 
—  Parkinson?  I  wouldn't  give  him  a  cent!  I 
ain't  a  briber  and  I  don't  think  he's  a  grafter." 

"  I   don't  mean   Parkinson,"   he   says,    chucklin'. 
"  But,  suppose  somebody  else  had  been  workin'  for 
you  on  the  quiet,  what  would  you  give  him?  " 
I  looked  him  over. 

"Look  here,  'Dolph,"  says  I;  "I  never  try  to 
guess  a  riddle  till  I  hear  the  whole  of  it.  What 
are  you  drivin'  at?  " 

He  grinned.  "  I  know  who's  goin'  to  get  that 
contract,"  he  says. 

"You  do.     Who  is  it?" 

'  The  Ostable  Store's  goin'  to  get  it.  Your  bid's 
a  little  mite  the  lowest.  Parkinson  told  me  so  last 
night." 

"  Parkinson  told  you !  "  I  sung  out.     "  How  did 
you  happen  to  see  Parkinson?" 
He  winked. 

"  Oh,  I  saw  him !  "  says  he.     "  I've  seen  him  a 
262 


ain't  been  sneakin' ! '   he  yelled." 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

good  many  times  lately.  I  made  it  my  business  to 
see  him.  He  was  pretty  stuck  on  the  Eureka  till 
I  got  after  him  and  I  cal'late  he'd  have  contracted 
for  Eurekas,  bid  or  no  bid.  But  I  put  in  my  licks; 
I've  drove  over  to  West  Ostable  four  nights  and 
two  Sundays  in  the  last  fortni't.  And  didn't  I 
preach  Nonesuch  to  him  !  He-he !  You  bet  I  did ! 
And  last  night  he  said  he  was  goin'  to  give  us  the 
job.  Oh,  I  fixed  that  stuck-up  Georgianna  Lentz ! 
I  got  even  with  her.  He-he-he !  " 

I  never  was  madder  in  my  life.  I  took  two  steps 
toward  him  with  my  fists  doubled  up. 

"  You  whelp  !  "  says  I  —  and  then  I  stopped  short. 
The  Lentz  girl  herself  was  walkin'  in  at  the  front 
door. 

"  Good  mornin',  Cap'n  Snow,"  she  says,  holdin' 
out  her  hand.  She  paid  no  more  attention  to  'Dolph 
than  if  he'd  been  a  graven  image.  "  Good  mornin'," 
says  she.  "  It's  a  beautiful  day,  isn't  it?  " 

I  was  past  carin'  about  the  weather. 

"  Miss  Georgianna,"  says  I,  "  I'm  glad  you  come 
in.  I've  got  somethin'  to  tell  you.  I've  got  to  beg 
your  pardon  for  somethin'  that  ain't  my  fault  or 
Mr.  Jacobs',  either.  You  and  my  partner  and  me 
had  an  agreement  not  to  go  nigh  Parkinson  or  try 
to  influence  him  in  any  way.  Well,  unbeknown  to 
me,  that  agreement  has  been  broke." 

She  stared  at  me,  too  astonished  to  speak. 
263 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  It's  been  broke,"  says  I.  "  That  —  that  critter 
there,"  pointin'  to  'Dolph,  "  has  been  sneakin  — " 

'Dolph's  face  had  been  gettin'  redder  and  redder. 
I  cal'late  he  thought  I'd  praise  him  for  his  doin's; 
and  when  he  found  I  wouldn't,  but  was  goin'  to  give 
the  whole  thing  away,  he  blew  up  like  a  leaky  b'iler. 

"  I  ain't  been  sneakin' !  "  he  yelled.  "  And  I  ain't 
broke  no  agreement,  neither.  You  and  Mr.  Jacobs 
agreed  —  but  I  never.  I  see  Parkinson  on  my  own 
hook;  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  he  wouldn't  be 
goin'  to  give  you  the  contract." 

There  'twas,  out  of  the  bag.  I  looked  at  Georgi- 
anna.  Her  pretty  face  went  white.  That  contract 
meant  all  creation  to  her;  but  she  stood  up  to  the 
news  like  a  major.  She  was  plucky,  that  girl f 

aOh!"  she  says.  "Oh!  Then  he  has  given 
you  the  contract  ?  I  —  I  congratulate  you,  Cap'n 
Snow." 

"  Don't  congratulate  me,"  says  I.  "  The  contract 
ain't  been  given  yet,  though  this  pup  says  it's  goin' 
to  be;  but,  as  for  me,  if  I'd  known  what  was  goin' 
on  I'd  have  stopped  it  mighty  quick!  I'm  honor 
able  and  decent,  and  so's  Jacobs;  and  we  don't  take 
underhanded  advantages." 

'Dolph  bust  out  from  astern  of  the  counter. 

"  You  don't,  hey!  "  says  he.  "  I  want  to  know! 
How  about  Jacobs'  takin'  her  to  ride  and  callin'  on 
her,  and  pretendin'  to  be  dead  gone  on  her?  What 

264 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

did  he  do  that  for?  You  know  as  well  as  I  do. 
'Twas  so's  to  keep  a  watch  on  her,  and  not  let 
Parkinson  see  her  and  be  influenced  into  .buyin' 
Eureka  screens.  You  know  it !  " 

My  own  face  grew  red  now,  I  cal'late. 

"You  —  you — "  I  begun.  "You  miser'ble 
liar—" 

"  'Tain't  a  lie,"  says  he.  "  I  heard  him  tell  you 
with  my  own  ears.  He  said  all  he  was  beauin'  her 
round  for  was  just  that.  If  that  ain't  a  underhanded 
trick  then  I  don't  know  what  is." 

I  wanted  to  say  lots  more;  but,  afore  I  could  get 
my  talkin'  machinery  to  runnin',  the  Lentz  girl  her 
self  spoke. 

"  Is  that  true,  Cap'n  Snow?  "  says  she. 

I  was  set  back  forty  fathom. 

"Well,  miss,"  says  I,  "I--I— " 

"  Is  that  true?  "  says  she. 

I  got  out  my  handkerchief  and  swabbed  my  fore 
head. 

"  Well,  Miss  Georglanna,"  says  I,  "  I'll  tell  you. 
Jim  Henry  —  Mr.  Jacobs,  I  mean  —  did  say  some- 
thin'  like  that;  but  —  but —  Well,  you  wanted  to 
be  treated  like  a  salesman,  and  —  er — Mr.  Jacobs 
would  have  kept  his  eye  on  a  man,  you  know;  and 
so  —  and  so  — " 

I  stopped  again.  'Twas  the  shoalest  water  ever 
I  cruised  in.  All  I  could  do  was  mop  away  with  the 

265 


THE  POSTMASTER 

handkerchief  and  look  at  Georgianna.  And  she  — 
well,  the  color,  and  plenty  of  it,  begun  to  come  back 
to  her  cheeks.  And  how  her  brown  eyes  did 
flash! 

"  I  see,"  she  says,  slow  and  so  frosty  I  pretty  nigh 
shivered.  "I  —  see  !  " 

"Well,"  says  I,  "  'tain't  anything  I'm  proud  of, 
I  will  admit;  but — " 

"  One  moment,  if  you  please.  You  haven't  actu 
ally  got  the  contract  yet?" 

"  No.  As  I  told  you,  all  I  know  is  what  this  con- 
sarned  fo'mast  hand  of  mine  says.  For  what  he's 
done,  I'm  ashamed  as  I  can  be.  As  for  Mr.  Jacobs, 
I  know  he  did  keep  to  the  letter  of  the  agreement, 
anyhow.  For  the  rest —  Well,  all's  fair  in  love 
and  war,  they  say  —  and  there's  precious  little  love 
in  business." 

She  looked  at  me,  with  a  queer  little  smile  about 
the  corners  of  her  lips,  though  her  eyes  wa'n't  smilin', 
by  a  consider'ble  sight. 

"Isn't  there?"  she  says.  "I  —  I  wonder. 
Good-by,  Cap'n  Snow.  You  might  tell  Mr.  Jacobs 
not  to  order  those  Nonesuch  screens  just  yet." 

Out  she  went;  and  for  the  next  five  minutes  I  had 
a  real  enjoyable  time.  I  told  'Dolph  Cahoon  just 
what  I  thought  of  him  —  that  took  four  of  the  min 
utes;  durin'  the  other  one  I  fired  him  and  run  him 
out  of  the  office  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck. 

266 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

Then  Mary  Blaisdell  and  me  held  officers'  council, 
and  that  ended  by  our  decidin'  not  to  tell  Jim  Henry 
that  the  Lentz  girl  knew  why  he'd  been  so  friendly 
with  her.  It  wouldn't  do  any  good  and  might  make 
him  feel  bad.  Besides,  the  contract  was  as  good  as 
got,  'cordin'  to  'Dolph's  yarn;  and  'twa'n't  likely 
he'd  see  Georgianna  again,  anyway.  When  he  come 
back  I  told  him  I'd  fired  Cahoon  for  bein'  no  good 
and  sassy,  and  he  agreed  I'd  done  just  right. 

When  I  said  good  night  to  him  he  was  chipper 
as  could  be ;  but  next  day  he  was  blue  as  a  whetstone 
—  and  the  blueness  seemed  to  strike  in,  so  to  speak. 
He  didn't  take  any  interest  in  anything  —  moped 
round,  glum  and  ugly;  and  I  couldn't  get  him  to  talk 
at  all.  If  I  mentioned  the  screen  contract  he  shut 
up  like  a  quahaug,  and  only  once  did  he  give  an 
opinion  about  it.  That  opinion  was  a  surprisin'  one, 
though. 

Alpheus  Perkins  was  in  the  store,  and  says  he : 

"  Say,  Mr.  Jacobs,"  he  says,  "  is  old  Parkinson, 
the  hotel  man,  cal'latin'  to  get  married  again?  I 
see  him  out  ridin'  with  a  girl  yesterday?  That 
female  screen  drummer  —  that  Georgianna  Lentz, 
'twas.  She's  a  daisy,  ain't  she !  I  don't  blame  him 
much  for  takin'  a  shine  to  her." 

Jim  Henry  didn't  make  any  answer;  but,  knowin' 
what  I  did,  I  was  a  little  surprised. 

"  Jim,"  says  I,  "  that  contract — " 
267 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  D — n  the  contract !  "  says  he,  and  cleared  out 
and  left  us. 

I  was  astonished,  but  I  guessed  'twas  a  healthy 
plan  to  keep  my  hatches  closed. 

When  I  opened  the  mail  a  few  mornin's  later  I 
found  a  letter  with  the  West  Ostable  Hotel's  name 
printed  on  the  envelope.  I  figgered  I  knew  what 
was  inside.  Thinks  I :  "  Here's  the  acceptance  of 
our  bid!  "  But  my  figgers  was  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  ledger.  Parkinson  wrote  just  a  few  words, 
but  they  was  enough.  After  considerin'  the  matter 
careful,  he  wrote,  he  had  decided  the  Eureka  to  be 
a  better  screen  than  the  Nonesuch;  and,  though  our 
bid  was  a  trifle  lower,  he  should  give  the  Eureka 
folks  the  contract. 

"  Well !  "  says  I  out  loud.  "  Well,  I'll  —  be  — 
blessed!" 

Jim  Henry  was  settin'  at  his  desk  —  we  was  all 
alone  in  the  store  —  and  he  looked  up. 

"What  are  you  askin'  a  blessin'  over?"  says  he. 

I  handed  him  the  letter.  He  read  it  through  and 
set  for  a  full  minute  without  speakin'.  Then  he 
slammed  it  into  the  wastebasket  and  got  up  and 
started  to  go  away. 

"  For  thunder  sakes!  "  I  sung  out.  ;'  What  ails 
you  ?  Ain't  you  goin'  to  say  nothin'  at  all  ?  " 

"What  is  there  to  say?"  he  asked,  gruff. 
"  We're  stung  —  and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

268 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

"  But  —  but  —  don't  you  realize  —  Why,  our 
bid  was  the  lowest!  And  yet  the  contract — " 

He  whirled  on  me  savage. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you,"  says  he,  "  that  I  didn't  give 
a  durn  about  the  contract?" 

"You  don't!  You  don't!  Then  who  on  airth 
does?" 

"  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care ! " 

"  You  don't  care !  I  swan  to  man !  Why,  'twas 
you  that  swore  you'd  put  the  screens  in  that  hotel 
or  die  tryin'.  You  said  'twas  a  matter  of  principle 
with  you.  And  now  that  the  Eureka  folks  have 
beat  us  by  some  shenanigan  or  other  —  for  our  bid 
was  lower  than  theirs  —  you  say  you  don't  care! 
Have  you  gone  loony?  What  do  you  care 
about?" 

"  Nothin' —  much,"  says  he,  and  flopped  down  in 
his  chair  again. 

I  stared  at  him.  All  at  once  I  begun  to  see  a 
light.  You'd  have  thought  anybody  that  wa'n't 
stone  blind  would  have  seen  it  afore  —  but  I  hadn't. 
You  see,  I  caPlated  that  I  knew  him  from  trunk  to 
keelson,  and  so  it  never  once  occurred  to  me.  I  riz 
and  walked  over  to  him.  Just  as  I  done  so,  I  heard 
the  front  door  open  and  shut,  but  I  figgered  'twas 
Mary  comin'  back,  and  didn't  even  look.  I  laid  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Jim,"  says  I,  "  I  guess  likely  I  understand.  I 
269 


THE  POSTMASTER 

declare  I'm  sorry!  And  yet  I  wouldn't  wonder 
if—" 

I  didn't  go  on.  He  wa'n't  payin'  any  attention, 
but  was  lookin'  over  the  top  of  his  desk  —  lookin' 
with  all  the  eyes  in  his  head.  I  looked,  too,  and 
caught  my  breath  with  a  jerk.  The  person  who'd 
come  in  wa'n't  Mary  Blaisdell,  but  Georgianna 
Lentz. 

She  saw  us  and  walked  straight  down  to  where  we 
was.  She  was  kind  of  pale  and  her  eyes  looked  as 
if  she'd  been  awake  all  night;  but  when  she  spoke 
'twas  right  to  the  point  —  there  wa'n't  any  hesitation 
about  her. 

"  Cap'n  Snow,"  says  she,  "  have  you  heard  from 
Mr.  Parkinson?" 

"Yes,"  says  I,  wonderin;  "we've  heard.  We 
don't  understand  exactly,  but  perhaps  that  ain't 
necessary.  I  cal'late  all  there  is  left  for  us  to  do 
is  to  offer  congratulations  and  '  go  'way  back  and 
set  down,'  as  the  boys  say.  You've  got  the  con 
tract." 

"  Yes,"  she  says;  "it  has  been  given  to  me. 
But  — " 

Jim  Henry  stood  up.  "  You'll  excuse  me,"  he 
says,  sharp.  "  I'm  busy." 

He  started  to  go,  but  she  stopped  him. 

"  No,"  she  says;  "  I  want  you  both  to  hear  what 
I've  got  to  say.  Mr.  Parkinson  gave  me  the  con- 

270 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

tract  yesterday;  but  I  have  decided  not  to  take 
it." 

We  both  looked  at  her. 

"You  —  you've  what?"  says  I.  "Not  take  it? 
You  want  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  says,  quiet  but  determined,  "  I  want 
it  —  or  I  did  want  it  very,  very  much.  It  meant 
so  much  to  me  —  now  —  and  might  mean  a  great 
deal  more  in  the  future ;  but  I  can't  take  it." 

This  was  too  many  for  me.  I  looked  at  Jacobs. 
He  didn't  say  a  word. 

"  I  can't  take  it,"  says  Georgianna,  "  under  the 
circumstances.  I  don't  feel  that  I  got  it  fairly.  We 
agreed,  you  and  I,  that  no  personal  influence  should 
be  brought  to  bear  upon  Mr.  Parkinson;  and  I  " — 
she  blushed  a  little,  but  kept  right  on  — "  I  have  seen 
Mr.  Parkinson  several  times  durin'  the  past  week." 

I  thought  of  her  bein'  to  ride  with  the  hotel  man, 
but  I  didn't  say  anything.  Jim  Henry,  though, 
started  again  to  go.  And  again  she  stopped  him. 

"  Wait,  please!  "  she  went  on.  e'  I  didn't  go  to 
him  —  you  must  understand  that!  But  after  what 
you,  Cap'n  Snow,  and  that  Mr.  Gaboon  told  me  the 
other  day  I  was  hurt  and  angry.  I  felt  that  you  had 
broken  your  agreement  with  me.  So  when  Mr. 
Parkinson  came  to  see  me  I  didn't  arak*  him  as  I 
had  been  doin'.  I  —  I  accepted  invit'a<Kons  for 
drives  with  him,  and  —  and  —  Oh,  dorA  you  see  ? 

271 


I  couldn't  take  the  contract.  I  couldn't!  What 
would  you  think  of  me?  What  would  I  think  of 
myself?  No,  my  mind  is  made  up.  I'm  afraid  " — 
with  a  half  smile  that  had  more  tears  than  fun  in  it  — 
"  that  my  experience  in  business  hasn't  been  a  success. 
I  shall  give  it  up  and  go  back  to  stenography  —  or 
somethin'.  There !  Good-by.  I'm  sure  that  the 
Nonesuch  screen  will  win  now.  Good-by!  " 

And  now  'twas  she  that  started  to  go  and  Jim 
Henry  that  stopped  her. 

'Wait!"  says  he,  sharp.  "There's  somethin' 
here  I  don't  understand.  What  do  you  mean  by 
what  the  Cap'n  and  Cahoon  told  you  the  other  day? 
Skipper,  what  have  you  been  doin'  ?  " 

I  wished  there  .was  a  crack  or  a  knothole  handy 
for  me  to  crawl  into;  but  there  wa'n't,  so  I  braced 
up  best  I  could. 

"  Why,  Jim,"  says  I,  "  I  ain't  told  you  the  whole 
of  that  business  I  fired  'Dolph  for.  Seems  he'd  been 
seein'  Parkinson  on  his  own  hook  and  pullin'  wires 
for  the  Nonesuch.  'Twas  a  sneakin'  mean  trick, 
and  I  knew  'twould  make  you  mad  same  as  it  done 
me;  so  I  didn't  tell  you.  'Twas  for  that  I  bounced 
him." 

Jim  Henry's  fists  shut. 

"  The  toad!  "  says  he.  "  I  wish  I'd  been  there. 
Wait  till  I  get  my  hands  on  him !  I'll  — " 

"  But  you  mustn't,"  put  in  Georgianna.  "  I  hope 
272 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

you  don't  think  I  care  what  such  a  creature  as  he 
might  do.  When  I  first  came  here  he  —  Oh,  why 
can't  people  forget  that  I'm  a  girl !  " 

I  could  have  answered  that,  but  I  didn't.  Jacobs 
asked  another  question. 

"  Then,  if  it  wa'n't  'Dolph,  who  was  it?  "  says  he. 
"Parkinson?" 

"  No !  "  with  a  flash  of  her  eyes.  "  Certainly  not. 
Mr.  Parkinson  is  a  gentleman;  but  —  but  I  don't 
like  him  —  that  is,  I  don't  dislike  him  exactly; 
but—" 

She  was  dreadful  fussed  up.  Jim  Henry  was 
between  her  and  the  door,  though,  and  he  kept  right 
on  with  his  questions. 

"  Then  what  was  the  trouble?  "  he  said,  brisk. 

I  answered  for  her. 

"  Well,  Jim,"  says  I,  "  there  was  somethin'  else. 
You  see,  'Dolph  got  mad  when  I  sailed  into  him,  and 
he  come  back  at  me  by  tellin'  what  you  said  about 
your  callin'  on  Miss  Lentz  here  —  and  takin'  her 
autoin'  and  such.  How  you  said  you  was  doin'  it 
so's  to  keep  a  watch  on  her  —  that's  all.  I  couldn't 
deny  that  you  did  say  it,  you  know  —  because  you 
did!" 

Jim's  face  was  a  sight  to  see  —  a  sort  of  combina 
tion  of  sheepishness  and  shame,  mixed  with  another 
look,  almost  of  joy  —  or  as  if  he'd  got  the  answer  to 
3.  puzzle  that  had  been  troublin'  him. 

273 


THE  POSTMASTER 

The  Lentz  girl  spoke  up  quick. 

"  Of  course,"  she  says,  "  I  understand  now  why 
you  did  it.  Then  I  was  —  was  —  Well,  it  did 
hurt  me  to  think  that  I  hadn't  seen  through  the 
scheme,  and  for  a  while  I  felt  that  you  hadn't  been 
true  to  our  agreement;  but,  now  that  I  have  had 
time  to  think,  I  understand.  You  promised  to  treat 
me  exactly  as  if  I  were  a  man;  and,  as  Cap'n  Snow 
said,  if  I  were  a  man  you  would  have  kept  me  in 
sight.  It's  all  right !  But  " —  with  a  sigh  — "  I 
realize  that  I'm  not  fitted  for  business  —  this  kind  of 
business.  I  don't  blame  you,  though.  Good-by. 
I  must  go!  " 

Lettin'  her  go,  however,  was  the  last  thing  Jim 
intended  doin'  just  then.  He  stepped  for'ard  and 
caught  her  by  the  hand. 

"  Georgianna,"  says  he,  eager,  "  you  know  what 
you're  sayin'  isn't  true.  I  did  tell  the  Cap'n  that 
yarn  about  watchin'  you.  He'd  seen  me  with  you 
and  I  had  to  tell  him  somethin' ;  but  it  was  a  lie  — 
every  word  of  it!  You  know  it  was." 

She  tried  to  pull  her  hand  away,  but  he  hung  on 
to  it  as  if  'twas  the  last  life-preserver  on  a  sinkin' 
ship.  I  cal'late  he'd  forgot  I  was  on  earth. 

"  You  were  keeping  your  promise,"  she  said. 
"  You  were  treatin'  me  as  you  would  if  I  were  a 
man!  Please  let  me  go,  Mr.  Jacobs;  I  have  told 
you  that  I  didn't  blame  you." 

274 


THROUGH  THE  SCREEN 

"Nonsense!"  says  he.  "If  I  had  done  that  I 
ought  to  be  hung !  A  man !  Treat  you  like  a  man ! 
Do  you  suppose  if  you  were  a  man  I  should  — " 

That  was  the  last  word  I  heard.  I  was  bound 
for  the  front  platform,  and  makin'  some  headway  for 
a  craft  of  my  age  and  build.  I  have  got  some  sense 
and  I  know  when  three's  a  crowd! 

I  didn't  go  back  until  they  called  me.  I  give  the 
pair  of  'em  one  look  and  then  I  shook  hands  with  'em 
up  to  the  elbows.  Georgianna  was  blushin',  and  her 
eyes  were  damp,  but  shinin'  like  masthead  lights  on 
a  rainy  night.  As  for  Jim  Henry  Jacobs,  he  was 
one  broad  grin. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  after  I'd  said  all  the  joyful  things 
I  could  think  of,  "  one  point  ain't  settled  even  yet  — 
who's  goin'  to  get  that  screen  contract?  There  ain't 
any  love  in  business,  you  know." 

"  Humph!  "  says  Jim  Henry.     "  I  wonder!  " 

I  laughed  out  loud. 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  that's  exactly  what  Georgianna 
here  said  t'other  day  —  she  wondered !  " 


275 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

MARY  came  in  a  few  minutes  later  and  she 
had  to  be  told  the  news.  She  was  as 
pleased  as  I  was  and  there  was  more  con- 
gratulatin'.  Then  Georgianna  had  to  go  home  and, 
as  she  was  altogether  too  precious  to  be  allowed 
to  walk,  Jim  Henry  went  and  got  his  auto  and  they 
left  in  that. 

When  he  got  back  —  that  car  must  have  been 
sufferin'  from  a  stroke  of  creepin'  paralysis,  for  it 
took  him  two  hours  to  run  that  little  distance  —  he 
and  I  had  a  good  confidential  talk.  He  was  way  up 
above  this  common  earth,  soarin'  around  in  the 
clouds,  and  all  he  wanted  to  talk  was  Georgianna. 
The  whole  of  creation  had  been  set  to  music  and  was 
clancin'  to  the  one  tune  — "  Georgianna." 

It  was  astonishin'  to  me  who  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  considerin'  him  just  a  sharp,  up-to-date  buyer  and 
seller,  a  man  whose  whole  soul  was  wrapped  up  in 
business  with  no  room  in  it  for  anything  else.  I 
found  myself  lookin'  at  him  and  wonderin' :  "  Is 
the  world  comin'  to  an  end,  I  wonder?  Is  this  my 

276 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

partner?     Is    this    moon-struck   critter   Jim    Henry 
Jacobs,  doctor  of  sick  businesses?  " 

I  couldn't  help  jokin'  him  a  little. 

"  Jim,"  says  I,  "  for  a  feller  who  hadn't  any  use 
for  females  you're  doin'  pretty  well,  I  must  say. 
Either  you  was  mistaken  In  your  old  opinions  or  your 
new  ones  are  wrong.  Which  is  it?  'Women  and 
business  don't  mix,'  you  know.  That  ain't  an  orig 
inal  notion;  that  is  quoted  from  the  Gospel  accord 
ing  to  Jacobs,  Chapter  1,000;  two  hundred  and 
eightieth  verse." 

He  reddened  up  and  laughed.  "  Well,  they  don't 
mix,  as  a  general  thing,"  he  says.  "  I  guess  'twas 
Georgianna's  sand  in  goin'  into  business  that  got  me 
in  the  first  place.  I  leave  it  to  you,  Skipper  —  ain't 
she  a  wonder?  Now  be  honest,  ain't  she?  " 

Course  I  said  she  was;  I  have  the  usual  sane  man's 
regard  for  my  head  and  I  didn't  want  it  knocked  off 
yet  awhile.  And  Georgianna  was  as  nice  a  girl  as 
I  ever  saw  —  that  is,  almost  as  nice.  Jim  went 
sailin'  on,  about  how  now  he  could  settle  down  and 
live  like  a  white  man  in  a  home  of  his  own,  about 
the  house  he  was  goin'  to  build,  and  so  forth  and 
etcetery.  I  declare  it  made  me  feel  almost  jealous 
to  hear  him. 

"  My!  my!  "  says  I,  kind  of  spiteful,  I'm  afraidv 
"  you  have  got  it  bad,  ain't  you !  Sudden  attacks 
are  liable  to  be  the  most  acute,  I  suppose." 

277 


THE  POSTMASTER 

He  laughed  again.  You  couldn't  have  made  him 
mad  just  then. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  says  he.  "  Yes,  I  guess  I'm  way  past 
where  there's  any  hope  for  me.  But  I'm  glad  of  it. 
It  did  come  sudden,  but  that's  the  way  most  good 
things  come  to  me.  It's  my  nature.  Now  if  I  was 
like  some  folks  that  I  won't  name,  I'd  be  mopin' 
around  for  months  without  sense  enough  to  know 
what  ailed  me." 

"Who  are  you  diggin'  at?"  I  wanted  to  know. 
He  wouldn't  tell;  said  'twas  a  secret,  and  maybe 
I'd  find  out  the  answer  for  myself  some  day. 

The  next  few  weeks  was  busy  times,  in  the  store 
and  out  of  it.  Georgianna  havin'  declined  the  screen 
contract,  Parkinson  gave  it  to  us,  after  a  little 
arguin'.  That  kept  me  hustlin',  for  Jim  was  too 
interested  in  other  things  to  care  for  screens.  He 
was  making  arrangements  to  be  married. 

And  married  he  and  Georgianna  were.  She'd 
have  waited  a  little  longer,  I  cal'late  —  that  bein'  a 
woman's  way  —  if  it  had  been  left  to  her  to  name  the 
time;  but  Jim  Henry  never  was  the  waitin'  kind. 
They  were  married  at  the  parson's  and  Mary  Blais- 
dell  and  I  saw  the  splice  made  fast.  Then  we  went 
to  the  depot  and  said  good-by  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jim 
Henry  Jacobs.  They  were  goin'  on  a  honeymoon 
cruise  to  the  West  Indies  that  would  last  two  months. 

Good-byes  ain't  ever  pleasant  to  say,  but  I  was  so 
278 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

glad  for  Jim,  and  so  happy  because  he  was,  that  I 
tried  to  be  as  chipper  as  I  could. 

"  If  you  need  me,  wire  at  Havana,  Skipper,"  he 
says.  "  I'll  come  the  minute  you  say  the  word." 

"  I  sha'n't  need  you,"  I  told  him.  "  Mary  and 
I'll  run  things  as  well  as  we  can.  She  makes  a  good 
fust  mate,  Mary  does." 

"  You  bet!  "  says  he.  "  I  feel  a  little  conscience- 
struck  to  leave  you  just  now,  with  that  West  End 
crowd  tryin'  to  make  trouble  for  you,  but  Congress 
man  Shelton  is  your  friend  and  he'll  look  out  for  you 
in  Washin'ton." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that,"  I  says.  "  I  ain't 
scared  of  Bill  Phipps  or  Ike  Hamilton  —  much,  or 
any  of  their  West  End  crew.  The  decent  folks  in 
town  are  on  my  side,  and  with  Shelton  to  back  me  up 
at  Washin'ton,  I  cal'late  I'll  keep  my  job  till  you  come 
back  anyhow." 

The  train  started  and  Mary  and  I  waved  till 
'twas  out  of  sight.  Then  we  went  back  to  the  store. 
I  give  in  that  the  old  feelin',  the  feelin'  that  I'd  had 
when  Jim  was  sick  out  West,  that  of  bein'  adrift 
without  an  anchor,  was  hangin'  around  me  a  little, 
but  I  braced  up  and  vowed  to  myself  that  I'd  do 
the  best  I  could.  If  this  post-office  row  did  get  dan 
gerous,  I  might  telegraph  for  Jacobs,  but  I  wouldn't 
till  the  ship  was  founderin'. 

I  suppose  you  can  always  get  up  an  opposition 
279 


THE  POSTMASTER 

party.  There  was  one  amongst  the  Children  of 
Israel  in  Moses's  time,  and  there's  been  plenty  ever 
since.  So  long  as  somebody  has  got  somethin' 
there'll  always  be  somebody  else  to  want  to  get  it 
away  from  him.  That's  human  nature,  and  there's 
as  much  human  nature  in  Ostable,  size  considered, 
as  there  was  in  the  Land  of  Canaan. 

I'd  been  postmaster  at  Ostable  for  quite  a  spell.  I 
didn't  try  for  the  position,  I  was  mad  when  'twas 
given  to  me,  there  wa'n't  much  of  anything  in  it  but 
a  lot  of  fuss  and  trouble,  and  I'd  said  forty  times  over 
that  I  wished  I  didn't  have  it.  But  when  the  gang 
up  at  the  West  End  of  the  town  set  out  to  take  it 
away  from  me  I  r'ared  up  on  my  hind  legs  and  swore 
I'd  fight  for  my  job  till  the  last  plank  sunk  from 
under  me.  Don't  sound  like  sense,  does  it?  It 
wa'n't  — 'twas  just  more  human  nature. 

Course  the  opposition  wa'n't  large  and  'twa'n't 
very  influential.  Old  man  William  Phipps  and 
young  Ike  Hamilton  was  at  the  head  of  it,  and  they 
had  forty  or  fifty  West-Enders  to  back  'em  up. 
Phipps  had  been  one  of  the  leading  workers  for 
Abubus  Payne,  the  chap  I  beat  for  the  app'intment 
in  the  fust  place;  and  young  Hamilton  was  junior 
partner  in  the  firm  of  "  Ichabod  Hamilton  &  Co., 
Stoves,  Tinware  and  Fishermen's  Supplies,"  a  mile 
or  so  up  the  main  road.  Young  Ike  —  everybody 
called  him  "  Ike,"  though  his  real  name  was  Ichabod, 

280 


same  as  his  uncle's  —  was  a  pushin'  critter,  who'd 
come  back  from  a  Boston  business  college  and  had 
started  right  in  to  make  the  town  sit  up  and  take 
notice.  He  was  goin'  to  get  rich  —  he  admitted  that 
much  —  and  he  cal'lated  to  show  us  hayseeds  a  few 
things.  Up  to  now  he  hadn't  showed  much  but 
loud  clothes  and  cheek,  but  he  had  enough  of  them  to 
keep  all  hands  interested  for  a  spell. 

His  uncle,  Ichabod,  Senior,  was  a  shrewd  old 
rooster,  with  twenty  thousand  or  so  that,  accordin' 
to  his  brags  —  he  was  always  tellin'  of  it  —  he'd 
put  away  for  a  "  rainy  day."  We  have  consider'ble 
clamp  weather  at  the  Cape,  but  'twould  have  taken  a 
Noah's  Ark  flood  to  make  Ichabod's  purse  strings 
loosen  up.  That  twenty  thousand  dollars  had 
growed  fast  to  his  nervous  system  and  when  you 
pulled  away  a  cent  he  howled.  Young  Ike  was  the 
only  one  that  could  mesmerize  this  old  man  into 
spendin'  anything,  and  how  he  did  it  nobody  knew. 
But  he  did.  Since  he  got  into  that  Stoves  and  Tin 
ware  firm  the  store  had  been  fixed  up  and  adver 
tisements  put  in  the  papers,  and  I  don't  know  what 
all.  The  uncle  had  been  under  the  weather  with 
rheumatism  for  a  year;  maybe  that  explained  a  little. 

Anyhow  'twas  young  Ike  that  picked  himself  to 
be  postmaster  instead  of  me  and  he  and  Phipps 
got  the  West-Enders,  fifty  or  so  of  'em,  to  sign  a 
petition  askin'  that  a  new  app'intment  be  made.  I 

281 


THE  POSTMASTER 

couldn't  be  removed  except  on  charges,  so  a  lot  of 
charges  was  made.  Fust,  the  post-office,  bein'  in 
the  Ostable  Grocery,  Dry  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes 
and  Fancy  Goods  Store,  was  too  far  from  the  center 
of  the  town.  Second,  I  was  neglectin'  the  office 
and  my  assistant  —  Mary,  that  is  —  was  really  doin' 
the  whole  of  the  government  work.  There  was  some 
truth  in  this,  because  Mary  knew  a  good  deal  more 
about  mail  work  than  I  did,  and  was  as  capable  a 
woman  as  ever  lived;  and  besides,  Jim  Henry  and 
I  had  been  so  busy  with  our  store  and  the  "  Windmill 
Restaurant,"  and  our  other  by-product  ventures,  that 
I  had  left  Mary  to  run  the  post-office.  But  it  was 
run  better  than  any  post-office  ever  was  run  afore 
in  Ostable  and  everybody  with  brains  knew  it. 

Third  .  .  .  But  never  mind  the  rest  of  the 
charges,  they  didn't  amount  to  anything.  In  fact, 
there  was  so  little  to  'em  that  when  the  West  End 
petition  went  in  to  Washin'ton,  I  didn't  take  the 
trouble  to  send  one  of  my  own,  though  Jacobs 
thought  I'd  better  and  a  hundred  folks  asked  me  to 
and  said  they'd  sign.  I  just  wrote  to  the  Post-office 
Department  and  told  them  that  I  was  ready  to  sub 
mit  my  case,  if  there  was  any  need  for  it,  and  if  they 
cared  to  send  a  representative  to  investigate,  I'd  be 
tickled  to  death  to  see  him.  They  wrote  back  that 
they'd  look  into  the  matter,  and  that's  the  way  it 
stood  when  Jim  and  Georgianna  left  and  it  stayed 

282 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

so  until  the  lost  letter  affair  run  me  bows  fust  onto 
the  rocks  and  turned  the  situation  from  ridiculousness 
into  something  that  looked  likely  to  be  mighty  serious 
for  me. 

It  come  about  —  same  as  such  jolts  generally  come 
—  when  I  was  least  ready  for  it.  Jim  Henry  had 
been  gone  three  weeks  or  more.  'Twas  February 
and  none  of  my  influential  friends  amongst  the  sum 
mer  folks  was  on  hand  to  help.  No,  Mary  and  I 
were  all  alone  and  sailin'  free  with  what  looked  like 
a  fair  wind,  when  "  Bump  1  " —  all  at  once  our  craft 
was  half  full  of  water  and  sinkin'  fast. 

That  mornin'  the  mail  was  a  little  mite  late  and 
there  wa'n't  any  store  trade  to  speak  of.  Mary  was 
in  the  post-office  place  writin',  the  usual  gang  of 
loafers  was  settin'  around  the  stove,  and  I  was  out 
front  talkin'  with  Sim  Kelley,  who  lived  up  to  the 
west  end  of  the  town,  amongst  the  mutineers. 
'Twas  from  Sim  that  I  got  most  of  my  news  about 
the  doin's  of  the  Phipps  and  Hamilton  crowd.  He 
was  a  great,  hulkin',  cross-eyed  lubber,  too  lazy  to 
get  out  of  his  own  way,  and  as  shif'less  as  a  body 
could  be  and  take  pains  enough  to  live. 

"  Sim,"  says  I  to  him,  "  I  thought  you  said  old 
man  Hamilton  was  in  bed  with  his  rheumatiz.  I 
saw  him  up  street  as  I  was  comin'  by.  He  looked 
pretty  feeble,  but  he  was  toddlin'  along  on  foot  just 
as  he  always  does.  Rheumatic  or  not,  it's  all  the 

283 


THE  POSTMASTER 

same.     I    cal'late    the    old   critter   wouldn't   spend 
enough  money  to  hire  a  team  if  he  was  dyin'." 

Sim  was  surprised,  and  not  only  surprised,  but, 
seemingly,  a  little  mite  worried.  Why  he  should 
be  worried  because  Ichabod  was  takin'  chances  with 
his  diseases  I  couldn't  see. 

"Old  man  Hamilton!"  says  he.  "Is  he  out  a 
cold  mornin'  like  this?  Where  was  he  bound?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  says  I.  "  He  stopped  into  the 
drug  store  when  I  saw  him.  Whether  that  was  his 
final  port  of  call  or  not  I  don't  know." 

He  seemed  to  be  thinkin'  it  over.  Then  he  got 
up  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"  He  ain't  in  sight  nowheres,"  he  says.  "  Guess 
he  wa'n't  comin'  as  far  as  here,  'tain't  likely." 

"Well,"  says  I,  "how's  the  rest  of  the  family? 
The  hopeful  leader  of  the  forlorn  hope  —  how's 
he?" 

"  Ike?  "  he  says.  "  Oh,  he's  all  right.  He's  a 
mighty  smart  young  feller,  Ike  is." 

'  Yes,"  says  I,  "  so  I've  heard  him  say.  Gettin' 
ready  to  stand  in  with  him  when  he  gets  my  job, 
are  you,  Sim  ?  " 

That  shook  him  up  a  mite.  'Twas  common  talk 
around  town  that  Sim  and  Ike  was  pretty  thick.  He 
turned  red  under  his  freckles. 

"  No,  no !  "  he  sputtered.  "  Course  I  ain't !  I'm 
standin'  by  you,  Cap'n  Snow,  and  you  know  it.  But, 

284 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

all  the  same,  Ike's  a  smart  boy.  He's  gettin'  rich 
fast,  Ike  is." 

"Sold  another  cookstove,  has  he?" 

"  He  sells  a  lot  of  'em.  Sold  two  last  month. 
But  that  ain't  it.  He's  got  foresight  and  friends  in 
the  stock  exchange  up  to  Boston.  He's  buyin'  cop 
per  stocks  and  they — " 

He  stopped  short;  thought  his  tongue  was  runnin' 
away  with  him,  I  presume  likely.  But  I  was  inter 
ested  and  I  kept  on. 

"  Oh !  "  says  I ;  "  he's  buyin'  coppers,  is  he  ?  Well, 
where  does  he  get  the  U.  S.  coppers  to  do  it  with? 
Is  Uncle  Ichabod  backin'  him?  Has  the  old  man's 
rheumatiz  struck  to  his  brains?" 

"  Course  he  ain't  backin'  him.  He  don't  know 
nothin'  of  stocks.  He  ain't  up-to-date  same  as 
Ike.  But  he'll  be  glad  enough  when  his  nephew 
makes  fifty  thousand.  When  he  finds  that  out 
he'll  — " 

"  He'll  never  find  it  out  on  this  earth,"  I  cut  in. 
"  If  he  found  out  that  Ike  made  fifty  dollars,  all  on 
his  own  hook,  he'd  drop  dead  with  heart  disease. 
If  he  didn't,  everybody  else  in  town  would.  But 
it  takes  money  to  buy  stocks,  don't  it  ?  I  never  knew 
Ike  had  any  cash  of  his  own." 

"  He's  in  the  firm,  ain't  he !  And  Hamilton  and 
Co.  are  —  ...  Hello !  here  comes  the  depot 
wagon." 

285 


Sure  enough,  'twas  the  depot  wagon  with  the  mail. 
I  took  the  bags  from  the  driver  and  went  back  to 
help  Mary  sort.  I'd  taken  to  helpin'  her  a  good 
deal  lately  —  more  since  Jacobs  left  than  ever  afore. 
She  said  there  wa'n't  any  need  of  it,  but  I  didn't 
agree  with  her.  Of  course  I  realized  that  I  was 
an  old  fool  —  but,  somehow  or  other,  I  felt  more 
and  more  contented  with  life  when  I  was  alongside 
of  Mary.  She  and  I  understood  each  other  and 
I'd  come  to  depend  upon  her  same  as  a  man  might 
on  his  sister  —  or  his  —  well,  or  anybody,  you  under 
stand,  that  he  thought  a  good  deal  of  and  knew  was 
square  and  —  and  so  on.  And  she  seemed  to  feel 
the  same  way  about  me. 

We  sorted  the  mall  together,  puttin'  it  in  the  dif 
ferent  boxes  and  such.  And  almost  the  fust  thing 
I  run  across  was  that  registered  letter  addressed  to 
"  Ichabod  Hamilton,  Jr."  'Twas  a  long  envelope 
and  up  in  one  corner  of  it  was  printed  the  name  of 
a  Boston  broker's  firm.  I  laid  it  out  by  itself  and 
went  on  sortin'. 

When  the  sortin'  and  distributin'  was  over  and  the 
crowd  had  gone,  I  called  to  Sim  Kelley.  We  didn't 
have  Rural  Free  Delivery  then  and  Sim  carried  the 
West  End  mail  box;  that  is,  a  lot  of  the  folks  up 
that  way  chipped  in  and  paid  him  so  much  for  deliv- 


erin 

u 


Sim,"  says  I,  "  there's  a  registered  letter  here 
286 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

for  young  Ike  Hamilton.  If  I  give  it  to  you  will 
you  be  careful  and  see  that  he  signs  the  receipt  and 
the  like  of  that?  " 

He  was  outside  the  partition  and  he  come  to  the 
little  window  and  took  the  letter  from  me.  He 
acted  mighty  interested. 

"  Gosh !  "  says  he,  grinnin',  "  I  wouldn't  wonder 
if  this  was  .  .  .  Humph!  Oh,  I'll  be  careful 
of  it!  don't  you  worry  about  that." 

Just  then  Mary  called  to  me.  I  went  over  to 
where  she  was  settin'  at  her  desk. 

"  Cap'n  Zeb,"  she  whispered,  "  I  wouldn't  send 
that  letter  by  Sim.  It  is  important,  or  it  would  not 
be  registered,  and  Sim  is  so  irresponsible.  If  any 
thing  should  happen  it  would  give  Mr.  Hamilton 
and  the  rest  such  a  chance.  And  they  have  accused 
us  of  bein'  careless  already." 

They  had,  that  was  a  fact.  One  or  two  letters 
had  gone  astray  durin'  the  past  six  months  and  the 
loss  of  'em  was  described,  with  trimmin's,  in  the 
West  End  charges  and  petition.  And  Sim  was  a 
lunkhead.  I  thought  it  over  a  jiffy  and  then  I  called 
to  Kelley  once  more.  He  was  just  comin'  to  the 
hooks  by  the  door  outside  the  mail-box  racks  where 
Mary  and  I  and  the  store  clerk  —  the  one  we'd  hired 
in  place  of  'Dolph  —  hung  our  overcoats  and  hats. 
Sim  had  hung  his  coat  there  that  mornin'. 

"  Sim,"  I  said,  "  let  me  see  that  registered  letter 
287 


THE  POSTMASTER 

of  Ike  Hamilton's  again,  will  you?"  He  took  it 
out  of  his  pocket  and  passed  it  to  me. 

"  All  right,"  says  I ;  "  you  needn't  bother  about 
this.  I'll  send  a  notice  by  you  that  it's  here  and  Ike 
can  call  for  it  himself.  I  won't  take  any  chances  of 
your  losin'  it." 

Well,  you'd  ought  to  have  seen  him!  His  face 
blazed  up  like  a  Fourth  of  July  tar-barrel. 
"  Chances !  "  he  sung  out.  "  What  are  you  talkin' 
about?  I  cal'late  I'm  able  to  carry  a  letter  without 
losin'  it.  I  ain't  a  kid." 

"  Maybe  not,"  says  I,  "  but  you  ain't  goin'  to  lose 
this  one,  kid  or  not.  Here's  the  notice,  all  made 
out." 

"  Notice  be  darned !  "  he  snarled.  "  You  give 
me  that  letter.  Hamilton  and  Co.  pay  me  to  carry 
their  mail,  don't  they?  And,  besides,  Ike  told  me 
particular  that  he  was  expectin' — " 

He  pulled  up  short  again. 

"  Well?  "  says  I.  "  Heave  ahead.  What's  the 
rest  of  it?" 

u  Nothin',"  he  answered,  ugly;  "but  you've  got 
no  right  to  say  I  can't  carry  a  letter  when  I'm  paid 
to  do  it.  As  for  losin'  things,  there's  others  besides 
me  that  lose  mail  in  this  town." 

There's  no  use  arguin'  when  a  matter's  all  settled. 
I  handed  him  the  notice  and  walked  off,  leavin'  him 
standin'  outside  that  partition,  sore  as  a  scalded  cat. 

288 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  'Twas  twelve  o'clock,  my- 
dinner  time.  I  walked  out  to  the  hook  rack,  took 
down  my  overcoat  and  put  it  on.  I  had  the  Hamil 
ton  letter  in  my  hand.  There  wa'n't  any  reason  why 
I  should  be  more  worried  about  that  registered  letter 
than  any  other,  but  I  wras,  just  the  same.  Maybe 
'twas  because  'twas  Ike's  and  he  was  so  anxious  to 
make  trouble  for  me.  Somehow  or  other  I  couldn't 
feel  safe  till  he  got  it  and  signed  the  receipt.  I 
thought  for  a  minute  and  then  I  decided  I'd  walk 
up  to  Hamilton  and  Co.'s  and  deliver  it  myself. 
That  decision  was  foolish,  maybe,  but  I  felt  better 
when  'twas  made.  I  put  the  letter  in  the  inside 
pocket  of  the  overcoat  I  had  on,  and  just  as  I  was 
doin'  it  Mary  come  out  of  the  post-office  room  with 
her  hat  on. 

"  Oh!  "  says  she,  "  are  you  goin'  out,  Cap'n  Zeb? 
I  thought  — ' 

Then  I  remembered.  She'd  asked  to  go  to  din 
ner  fust  that  day  and  I'd  told  her  of  course  she  could. 
I  begged  her  pardon  and  said  I'd  forgot.  I'd  wait 
till  she  got  back.  So,  after  makin'  sure  that  I  didn't 
care,  she  took  her  coat  from  the  hook,  put  it  on  and  ' 
went  out. 

I  took  off  my  overcoat  and,  just  as  I  did  so,  some- 
thin'  fell  on  the  floor.  I  stooped  and  picked  it  up. 
I  swan  to  man  if  it  wasn't  that  pesky  Hamilton  let 
ter!  Thinks  I,  "That's  funny!"  I  put  my  hand 

289 


THE  POSTMASTER 

into  the  pocket  where  it  had  been  and  there  was  a 
hole  right  through  the  linin'.  Now  if  there's  one 
thing  I'm  fussy  about  it  is  that  my  pockets  are  whole. 
And  I  knew  this  one  ought  to  be  whole.  So  I  looked 
at  the  coat  and  I'm  blessed  if  it  was  mine  at  all! 
'Twas  Sim  Kelley's!  Both  coats  had  been  hangin' 
together  on  the  hook-rack  and  both  was  blue  and 
about  the  same  size.  I'd  been  saved  by  a  miracle, 
as  you  might  say. 

I  was  comin'  to  feel  more  and  more  as  if  there 
was  some  sort  of  fate  about  that  registered  letter. 
I  took  it  back  Into  the  post-office  room,  handlin'  it  as 
careful  as  if  'twas  solid  gold,  and  laid  it  down  on  the 
sortin'  bench  behind  the  letter  boxes.  And  then 
somebody  spoke  to  me  through  the  little  window. 

"  Cap'n  Zeb,"  says  Sim  Kelley,  "  there's  a  man 
just  drove  over  from  Bayport  to  see  you.  Come  in 
Gabe  Lumley's  buggy,  he  did.  His  name's  Peters 
and  Gabe  says  he's  got  some  sort  of  government 
job." 

"  Government  job?  "  says  I.  And  then  it  flashed 
through  my  mind  who  the  feller  might  be.  The 
Post-office  Department  had  said  they  might  send  an 
investigator.  I  didn't  care  for  that,  but  I  did  wish 
Sim  hadn't  seen  him. 

"  Oh,"  says  I ;  "  all  right.  It's  the  lighthouse 
inspector,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  Guess  'tain't  me  he 
is  after.  Probably  I  ain't  the  Snow  he  wants  to 

290 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

see;  it's  Henry  Snow  over  to  the  Point.     Where 
is  he?" 

"  Out  on  the  platform,"  says  Sim.  I  hurried  out 
of  the  post-office  room,  lockin'  the  door  careful 
astern  of  me.  The  man  Peters  was  just  comin'  into 
the  store.  I  met  him  at  the  front  door.  We  shook 
hands  and  he  introduced  himself.  'Twas  the  inves 
tigator,  sure  enough. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  says  I.  "  I  know  that  may 
sound  like  a  lie,  but,  as  it  happens,  it  ain't  in  this 
case.  I  ain't  got  anything  to  be  ashamed  of  and  the 
sooner  the  government  finds  that  out  the  better  I'll 
be  pleased." 

He  laughed.  He  was  a  real  good  chap,  this 
Peters  man,  and  I  took  to  him  right  off  the  reel. 
We  stood  there  talkin'  and  laughin'  and  says  he : 

"  Well,  Cap'n,"  he  says,  "  I'll  tell  you  frankly 
that  I'm  not  very  much  worried  about  the  conduct 
of  your  office  here  at  Ostable.  I've  made  some 
inquiries  about  you,  here  and  in  Washin'ton,  and  the 
answers  are  pretty  satisfactory.  Congressman 
Shelton  seems  to  be  a  friend  of  yours." 

I  grinned.  "  Yes,"  says  I,  "  but  Shelton's  preju 
diced,  I'm  afraid.  He  and  old  Major  Clark  ate  a 
chowder  once  that  I  cooked  and  ever  since  they've 
both  swore  by  me." 

He  laughed,  though  I  could  see  Shelton  hadn't 
told  him  the  yarn. 

291 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"Humph!"  says  he,  "that's  unusual,  isn't  it? 
Judgin'  by  some  chowders  I've  eaten,  it  would  be 
easier  to  swear  at  the  cook.  Speakin'  of  eatables, 
though,  reminds  me  that  I'm  hungry.  Where's  a 
good  place  to  get  a  meal  around  here?  " 

"  Nowhere,"  says  I,  prompt;  "  not  at  this  season 
of  the  year,  with  the  summer  dinin'-room  closed. 
But,  if  you'll  wait  until  my  assistant  gets  back,  I'll 
pilot  you  down  to  the  Poquit  House,  where  I  feed, 
and  we'll  face  the  wust  together." 

He  was  willin'  to  risk  it,  he  said,  and  we  walked 
back  and  set  down  in  the  post-office  department.  As 
we  left  the  front  door  Sim  Kelley  went  out  of  it, 
luggin'  his  West-End  mail  box.  Peters  and  I  talked. 
Seems  he  hadn't  come  to  the  Cape  a-purpose  to  inves 
tigate  me,  but  he  had  a  job  at  the  Bayport  office  and 
had  took  me  in  on  the  way  home.  After  a  spell 
Mary  come  back  and  Peters  and  I  headed  for  the 
Poquit,  where  the  cold  fish  balls  and  warmed-over 
beans  was  waitin'. 

On  the  way  I  saw  old  man  Hamilton,  Ike's  uncle, 
totterin'  along,  headin'  to  the  west'ard  this  time.  I 
pointed  him  out  to  Peters. 

''  There  goes,"  I  says,  "  one  of  the  fellers  that's 
trying  to  knock  me  out  of  my  job." 

"Humph!"  says  he;  "he  looks  pretty  near 
knocked  out  himself.  Why,  he's  all  bent  out  of 
shape." 

292 


THE  EPISTLE  TO  ICHABOD 

"  Yes,"  I  told  him.  "  Ichabod's  bent,  but  he's 
far  from  broke.  And  a  tough  old  limb  like  him 
stands  a  lot  of  bendin'." 

I  was  feelin'  pretty  good.  With  a  square  man 
like  this  Peters  to  look  into  matters,  I  cal'lated  I'd 
be  postmaster  for  a  spell  yet. 

But  that  afternoon,  about  three  o'clock,  as  we  was 
inside  the  mail  room,  Mary  at  her  desk,  and  Peters 
alongside  of  her,  goin'  over  the  books  and  papers, 
and  me  smokin'  in  a  chair  nigh  the  delivery  window, 
Ike  Hamilton  walked  into  the  store. 

"  Afternoon,  Snow,"  says  he,  pert  and  important 
as  ever,  "  I  understand  there's  a  registered  letter 
for  me.  I  s'pose  it  is  part  of  your  business  to  refuse 
to  give  it  to  the  regular  carrier  and  put  me  to  the 
trouble  of  walkin'  way  down  here." 

"  I  s'pose  'tis,"  says  I. 

'  Yes,"  he  says.  "  Well,  if  you  were  as  careful 
to  put  your  partic'lar  friends  to  the  same  inconve 
nience  there  might  not  be  as  much  talk  about  you  and 
your  handlin'  of  this  office  as  there  is  now." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  would,"  I  told  him.  "  There'd 
always  be  more  talk  than  anything  else  where  you 
lived,  Ike.  Want  your  letter,  do  you  ?  " 

He  was  mad,  but  he  held  in  pretty  well. 

"  I  do  —  if  gettin'  it  won't  make  you  work  too 
hard,"  he  says,  sarcastic.  "  I  should  hate  to  see  you 
really  work." 

293 


"  Yes,"  I  says,  "  the  sight  of  work  never  was  a 
joy  to  you,  'cordin'  to  all  accounts.  Well,  here's 
your  letter." 

I  reached  down  to  the  sortin'  table  where  I'd  laid 
the  letter  at  noon  time  —  and  it  wa'n't  there. 

I  hunted  that  table  over.  "  Mary,"  says  I,  "  did 
you  put  that  registered  letter  of  Mr.  Hamilton's 
away  somewheres?  " 

She  looked  surprised  and,  it  seemed  to  me,  rather 
anxious. 

"  Why  no!  "  says  she;  "  I  haven't  touched  it." 

Whew!  .  .  .  Well,  there  was  a  lively  hunt 
in  that  mail  room  for  the  next  ten  minutes,  but  it 
ended  in  nothin'. 

Ike  Hamilton's  registered  letter  was  gone! 


294 


CHAPTER  XV 

HOW  IKE'S  LOSS  TURNED  OUT  TO  BE  MY  GAIN 

THERE'S  no  use  dwelling  on  unpleasantness. 
And  there's  no  use  tellin'  what  Ike  Ham 
ilton  said.  I'd  be  liable  to  the  law,  if  I 
did  tell  it,  and,  besides,  I've  been  away  from  seafarin' 
so  long  that  my  memory  for  such  language  ain't  as 
good  as  'twas.  Ike  wa'n't  only  mad  now:  he  was 
ha'f  crazy,  and  pale  and  scared-lookin'  besides.  The 
interview  ended  by  my  takin'  him  by  the  arm  and 
leadin'  him  to  the  door. 

"  You  get  out  of  here,"  I  told  him,  "  and  I'll  leave 
this  door  open  so's  to  sweeten  the  air  after  you. 
That  letter  of  yours  has  turned  up  missin'  and  I'm 
mighty  sorry.  I'll  find  it,  though,  or  die  a-tryin'. 
Meanwhile,  unless  you  can  behave  like  a  decent 
human  bein' — which  I  doubt  —  you'll  find  it  tur- 
rible  unhealthy  for  you  on  these  premises.  Under 
stand?" 

I  cal'late  he  understood,  for  he  waited  till  he  was 
out  of  reach  afore  he  answered.  Then  he  turned 
and  snarled  at  me  like  a  kicked  dog. 

"  By  the  Almighty,  Zeb  Snow,"  he  says,  "  this  is 

295 


THE  POSTMASTER 

the  wust  day's  work  you  ever  did!  That  letter's 
wuth  hundreds  of  dollars  to  me  and  I'll  sue  you  for 
every  cent.  And,  more'n  that,"  he  says,  "  this  is  the 
last  straw  that'll  break  your  back  as  postmaster  of 
this  town.  You're  done!  and  don't  you  forget  it!  " 

I  wa'n't  likely  to  forget  it  —  not  to  any  consid- 
er'ble  extent. 

Well,  all  the  rest  of  that  day  and  for  the  next  two 
days,  Mary  and  Peters  and  I  hunted  high  and  low 
for  that  letter;  but  we  couldn't  find  it.  I  was  wor 
ried,  Peters  was  worried,  and  Mary  Blaisdell  seemed 
the  most  worried  of  any  of  us.  Ike  Hamilton  come 
in  every  few  hours,  and,  though  he  blustered  and 
threatened  a  whole  lot,  he  kept  a  civil  tongue  in  his 
head,  rememberin',  I  cal'late,  what  I  said  to  him  when 
I  showed  him  the  door.  Apparently  he  hadn't  told 
any  of  his  cronies  about  his  loss,  for  nobody  else  said 
a  word  about  it  to  me.  This  was  queer,  for  I  ex 
pected  the  news  would  be  all  over  town  by  this  time. 

Peters  asked  a  lot  of  questions  and  I  done  my  best 
to  satisfy  him.  I  showed  him  the  exact  place  where 
I  laid  the  letter  down  afore  I  went  to  the  front  of 
the  store  to  meet  him,  and  he  remembered,  same  as 
I  did,  that  the  door  to  the  mail  room  was  locked 
when  we  come  back  to  it.  And  we'd  stayed  in  that 
room  together  until  Mary  came  and  we  went  to  din 
ner.  Nobody  but  Mary  and  I  had  keys  to  the  room, 
either. 

296 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 

Course  I  thought  of  Sim  Kelley  and  how  mad 
he  was  because  I  took  the  letter  away  from  him, 
and  Peters  and  I  cross-questioned  him  pretty  sharp. 
But  he  told  a  straight  yarn  and  stuck  to  it.  He 
hadn't  seen  the  letter  since  I  took  it.  He'd  de 
livered  the  notice  to  Ike  and  Ike  had  said  he'd  call 
and  get  the  letter  that  afternoon.  Well,  all  that 
seemed  to  be  true,  and,  besides,  there  was  no  way 
Sim  could  have  got  hold  of  the  thing  if  he'd  wanted 
to. 

"  No  use,"  says  I,  when  the  questionin'  was  over 
and  Sim  had  cleared  out,  protestin'  injured  inno 
cence  and  almost  cryin'.  "  No  use,"  says  I,  "  I  car- 
late  he's  tellin'  the  truth  for  once  in  his  life.  I 
guess  his  skirts  are  clear." 

"  Maybe  so,"  says  Peters.  "  His  story  is  straight 
enough;  but  he  don't  look  you  in  the  face;  I  don't 
like  that." 

"That's  nothin',"  I  said.  "He'd  have  to  get 
'round  the  corner  to  look  a  body  in  the  face,  as  cross 
eyed  as  he  is." 

Mary  Blaisdell  spoke  up  then.  "  If  this  letter 
shouldn't  be  found  at  all,  Mr.  Peters,"  says  she, 
"  what  effect  would  it  have  on  Cap'n  Zeb's  position 
as  postmaster?  " 

Peters  was  pretty  solemn,  and  he  shook  his  head. 

''  Well,"  he  says,  "  to  be  perfectly  frank  with  you, 
Cap'n,  it  might  have  consider'ble  effect.  From 

297 


THE  POSTMASTER 

what  I've  seen  of  you  and  this  office,  generally 
speakin',  my  report  to  headquarters  would  be  a  very 
favorable  one.  Your  records  and  accounts  are 
straight  and  the  place  is  neat  and  well  kept.  But 
your  opponent's  petition  charges  that  several  letters 
have  been  lost  already.  This  loss  comes  at  a  very 
bad  time  and  it  might  be  considered  serious." 

I'd  realized  all  this,  but  it  didn't  help  me  much 
to  hear  him  say  it.  I  didn't  make  any  answer,  but 
Mary  asked  another  question. 

"  But  if,"  she  says,  slow,  u  it  should  turn  out  that 
the  Cap'n  was  not  to  blame  at  all?  If  someone  else 
had  lost  that  letter?  He  wouldn't  be  removed 
then?" 

"  No,  certainly  not.  That  is,  not  if  my  report 
counted  for  anything." 

"I  see,"  says  she;  and  she  didn't  speak  to  us 
again  that  afternoon.  Peters,  though,  had  more 
questions  to  ask.  What  sort  of  a  letter  was  this, 
anyhow?  And  did  I  have  any  idea  what  was  in  it? 

I  told  him  that  I  didn't  really  know  much,  but, 
bein'  a  Yankee,  I  was  subject  to  the  guessin'  habit. 
Ike  Hamilton  had  been  buyin'  stocks  up  to  Boston 
and  this  letter  had  a  broker  firm's  name  printed  on 
the  envelope.  My  guess  was  that  there  was  some 
certificates,  or  such,  inside. 

"  I  see,"  he  says.  "  That  would  explain  what  he 
said  about  its  value.  So  he's  been  speculatin',  hey?  " 

298 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 

"  So  Sim  Kelley  hinted.  But  where  the  money 
comes  from  I  don't  see.  Old  Ichabod  don't  furnish 
it,  I'll  bet  a  dollar.  The  old  critter's  got  cramps  in 
the  pocketbook  worse  than  he  has  in  his  back." 

"  That  was  the  old  feller  you  pointed  out  to  me 
the  other  day,"  he  says.  "  I  haven't  seen  him  since. 
Where  is  he?" 

"  Back  in  bed  with  the  rheumatiz,  so  I  hear. 
Guess  his  cruise  down  town  was  too  much  for  him." 

Well,  the  rest  of  our  talk  didn't  amount  to  much 
and  I  went  home  that  night  pretty  blue  and  dis 
couraged.  I  didn't  care  so  much  about  bein'  post 
master,  but  it  hurt  my  pride  to  be  bounced  for  bad 
seamanship.  I'd  never  wrecked  a  craft  afore  in 
my  life. 

Next  mornin'  I  come  to  the  store  at  my  usual  time, 
but  Mary  was  late,  for  a  wonder.  When  she  did 
come  she  looked  so  pale  and  used  up  that  I  was 
troubled. 

"  Mary,"  says  I,  "  what's  the  matter?  Ain't  sick, 
are  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no!  "  says  she.  "I  —  I  didn't  sleep  well, 
that's  all.  I'm  all  right." 

11  But,  Mary,"  I  says,  "  I  — " 

"  Please  excuse  me,  Cap'n  Zeb,"  she  cut  in. 
"  I'm  very  busy." 

She'd  never  used  that  tone  to  me  afore,  and  I  was 
set  back  about  forty  mile.  Why  she  should  be  so 

299 


THE  POSTMASTER 

frosty  I  couldn't  see.  I  went  out  to  the  platform 
and  paced  the  quarter  deck,  thinkin'.  I  was  down 
at  the  heel  anyway,  and  I  thought  a  whole  lot  of 
fool  things.  I  was  goin'  to  lose  my  job  and  so  I 
s'posed  that,  after  all,  I'd  ought  to  expect  my  friends 
to  shake  me.  There's  a  proverb  about  rats  leavin' 
a  leaky  vessel.  But  Mary  Blaisdell!!  I  cal'late  I 
come  as  nigh  wishin'  I  was  dead  as  ever  I  did  in  my 
life. 

'Twas  almost  eleven  afore  the  Peters  man  showed 
up.  He  was  walkin'  brisk  and  smilin'  a  little. 

'  Well,"   says   I,    "  you're   lookin'   a   heap  more 
chipper  than  I  feel.     What  are  you  grinnin'  about?  " 

"  Oh,  just  for  instance,"  he  says.  "  Is  Miss 
Blaisdell  in  the  office?" 

u  Guess  so.  She  was  awhile  ago.  Yes,  she's 
there.  Why?" 

"  I  want  to  see  her  —  and  you,  too.     Come  on." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  mail  room.  Mary  was 
there,  workin'  at  her  books.  She  looked  up  when 
we  come  in,  and  her  face  was  whiter  than  ever.  I 
forgot  all  about  my  "  rat "  thoughts  and  the  rest 
of  it. 

"  Mary,"  says  I,  anxious,  "  you  are  under  the 
weather.  Why  don't  you  go  home  ?  " 

She  held  up  her  hand  and  stopped  me. 

"  Please  don't,"  she  says. 

Then,  turnin'  to  Peters:     "Mr.  Peters,  I  want 
300 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 

to  speak  to  you.  And  to  you,  too,  Cap'n  Zeb.  I  — 
I've  got  somethin'  that  I  must  tell  you." 

'Twa'n't  so  much  what  she  said  as  the  way  she  said 
it.  I  looked  at  Peters  and  he  looked  at  me.  I  cal'- 
late  we  was  both  wonderin'  what  sort  of  lightnin' 
was  goin'  to  strike  now. 

She  didn't  leave  us  to  wonder  long.  She  went 
right  on,  speakin'  quick,  as  if  she  wanted  to  get  it 
over  with. 

"  Mr.  Peters,"  she  says,  "  last  night  you  told  me 
that,  if  it  should  be  proved  that  Cap'n  Zeb  had  no 
part  in  losin'  that  letter,  if  it  wasn't  his  fault  at  all, 
the  postmastership  wouldn't  be  taken  from  him. 
You  meant  that,  didn't  you  ?  " 

Peters  looked  queer  enough.  "  Why,  yes,"  he 
says,  "I  did.  But  how — " 

"  Mr.  Peters,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  hurried 
way,  "  /  lost  that  letter." 

I  don't  know  what  Peters  did  then,  but  I  know 
that  my  knees  give  from  under  me  and  I  flopped 
down  in  the  armchair. 

"You?  You,  Mary!"  says  I. 

Peters  seemed  to  be  as  much  flabbergasted  as  I 
was.  He  rubbed  his  forehead. 

'  You  lost  it?  "  he  says,  slow. 

'  Yes,"  says  she.  "  That  is,  I  —  I  destroyed  it 
by  accident.  It  was  while  you  two  were  at  dinner. 
I  was  clearin'  up  the  sortin'  table  and  —  and  puttin' 

301 


THE  POSTMASTER 

the  waste  paper  in  the  stove.     I  —  I   must  have 
taken  the  letter  with  the  other  things." 

"  Nonsense !  "  I  sung  out.  Peters  didn't  say 
nothin'. 

"  Nonsense !  "  I  said  again.  '  You  don't  know 
that  'twas  — " 

"  But  I  do,"  she  interrupted.  "I  —  I  saw  it 
burnin'  and  —  and  it  was  too  late  to  get  it  out.  It 
was  my  fault  altogether.  No  one  else  is  to  blame 
at  all." 

If  I  hadn't  been  settin'  down  already  you  could 
have  knocked  me  over  with  a  feather.  'Twas  an 
accident,  of  course;  anybody  might  have  done  such 
a  thing;  but  what  I  couldn't  understand  was  why  she 
hadn't  told  me  of  it  afore.  That  didn't  seem  like 
her  at  all. 

"Well!  "I  says;"  ***///" 

Peters  had  transferred  his  rubbin'  from  his  fore 
head  to  his  chin. 

"  Miss  Blaisdell,"  says  he,  quiet,  "  why  didn't  you 
tell  us  sooner?  " 

"That's  all  right,"  I  cut  in,  quick.  "I  don't 
blame  her  for  not  tellin'.  I  cal'lafe  that  she  felt  so 
bad  about  it  that  she  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  to 
tell  right  off.  That  was  it,  wa'n't  it,  Mary?  " 

She  didn't  look  up,  but  sat  playin'  with  a  pen 
holder. 

"  Yes,"  she  says,  "  that  was  it." 
302 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 

"  All  right  then,"  says  I.  "  It  was  an  accident, 
and  if  anybody's  to  blame  it's  me.  I  shouldn't  have 
left  the  letter  there." 

Then  she  looked  up.  "  Of  course  you're  not  to 
blame,"  she  says,  awful  earnest.  "  It  was  my  fault 
entirely.  You  know  it  was,  Mr.  Peters.  It  was 
my  fault  and  I  must  take  the  consequences.  I  will 
resign  my  place  as  assistant  and  — " 

"  Resign  !  "  I  sung  out.  "  Resign !  Well,  I  guess 
not!" 

"  But  I  shall.  Of  course  I  shall.  Mr.  Peters, 
you  see  that  it  wasn't  Cap'n  Snow's  fault,  don't  you? 
Don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  Peters,  short. 

"  Nonsense!  "  I  roared.  "  He  don't  see  no  such 
thing.  Mary,  I  don't  care — " 

She  held  up  her  hand.  "  Please  don't  talk  to  me 
now,"  she  begged.  "  Please  —  not  now." 

I  looked  at  Peters.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes, 
almost  as  if  he  was  smilin'  inside.  I  could  have 
punched  his  head  for  it. 

"  But,  Mary  — "  I  begun. 

"  Please  don't  talk  to  me,"  she  begged,  almost 
cryin'.  "  Please  go  away  and  leave  me  now. 
Please." 

I  cal'late  I  shouldn't  have  gone;  fact  is,  I  know 
I  shouldn't;  but  that  government  investigator  put  his 
hand  on  my  arm. 

303 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Cap'n,"  he  says,  "  come  with  me." 

"  With  you  ?  "  I  snapped.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  want  you  to.  It's  important.  I 
won't  keep  you  long." 

I  went,  but  he'll  never  know  how  much  I  wanted 
to  kick  him.  As  I  shut  the  door  of  the  mail  room 
I  saw  poor  Mary's  head  go  down  on  her  arms  on 
the  desk. 

Peters  led  me  out  to  the  front  of  the  store,  where 
he  come  to  anchor  on  a  shoe-case. 

"  Set  down,"  says  he,  pattin'  the  case  alongside 
of  him. 

"  I  don't  feel  like  settin',"  I  says,  ugly.  "  And 
I  tell  you,  Mr.  Peters  — " 

"  No,"  says  he,  "  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  this  time. 
Or,  if  I'm  not,  the  feller  I  told  to  be  here  at  half  past 
eleven  will.  Yes  .  .  .  here  he  comes  now." 

In  at  the  door  comes  Sim  Kelley,  and,  if  ever  a 
chap  looked  as  if  he  was  marchin'  to  be  hung,  he 
did.  His  eyes  was  red  and  his  face  was  white  un 
der  the  freckles. 

"  Here  —  here  I  be,  Mr.  Peters,"  he  stammered. 

'  Yes,  I  see  you  '  be,'  "  says  Peters,  dry  as  a  chip. 
"  All  right.  Now  you  can  tell  Cap'n  Snow  what  you 
told  me  this  mornin'." 

Sim  looked  at  me,  and  at  the  government  man. 
He  was  shakin'  all  over. 

"Aw,  Cap'n  Zeb,"  he  bust  out,  "don't  be  too 
304 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 
t 

hard  on  me.  Don't  put  me  in  jail  I  I  know  I 
hadn't  ought  to  have  taken  that  letter,  but  you  riled 
me  up  when  you  told  me  I  couldn't  be  trusted  with 
it.  Ike  pays  me  to  fetch  the  mail.  And  he  told  me 
he  was  expectin'  an  important  letter  from  them  stock 
brokers.  So  I  — " 

Well,  there's  no  use  tryin'  to  spin  the  yarn  the 
way  he  did.  'Twas  all  mixed  up  with  prayers  about 
not  puttin'  him  in  jail,  and  what  would  his  ma  say, 
and  "  pleases  "  and  "  oh,  dont's  "  and  such.  B'iled 
down  and  skimmed  it  amounted  to  this:  He'd  seen 
me  lay  that  Hamilton  letter  on  the  sortin'  table,  saw 
it  when  he  come  back  to  tell  me  that  Peters  had 
arrived.  After  I'd  gone  out  to  the  platform  he  was 
struck  with  an  idea.  He  would  take  that  letter  to 
Ike,  just  to  show  that  he  could  be  trusted,  and,  be 
sides  Ike  had  promised  him  fifty  cents  for  lookin' 
out  for  it  and  fetchin'  it  to  him  direct.  He  had  a 
key  to  the  Hamilton  box  and  the  letter  laid  right 
back  of  that  box.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  reach 
through  the  box  to  the  table,  take  the  letter,  and  lock 
up  again.  So  he  did  it,  and  put  the  letter  in  his 
overcoat  inside  pocket. 

"  And  —  and  — "  he  finished  up,  almost  blub- 
berin',  "  there  was  a  great  big  hole  in  that  pocket 
and  I  didn't  know  it." 

"  I  did,"  says  I,  involuntary,  so  to  speak. 
"  Never  mind.  Heave  ahead." 

305 


THE  POSTMASTER    . 

"  And  the  letter  must  have  dropped  out  of  it. 
When  I  got  a  little  ways  up  the  road  I  found  'twas 
gone.  I  didn't  dast  tell  Ike  or  you.  I  —  I  didn't 
dast  to.  Ike  would  kill  me  if  I  told  him,  and  —  and 
—  Oh,  please,  Cap'n  Zeb,  don't  put  me  in  jail!  I 
don't  know  where  the  letter  is.  Honest,  I  don't! 
Please  .  .  ."  and  so  on. 

Peters  cut  him  short.  "  There !  "  says  he,  "  that'll 
do.  Kelley,  you  go  out  on  the  platform  and  wait 
till  we  need  you.  Go  ahead!  Shut  up  —  and 

go.1; 

Sim  went,  but  I  cal'late  if  we'd  listened  we  could 
have  heard  the  platform  boards  tremblin'  underneath 
where  he  was  standin'." 

Peters  looked  at  me  and  grinned.  'Twas  my  time 
to  rub  my  forehead. 

"  Well !"  says  I.  "  Well,  I  —  I  ...  Is  he 
lyin'  ?  " 

"  Didn't  act  like  it,  did  he?" 

"  No-o,  he  didn't.  But  —  but,  if  he  took  that  let 
ter,  how  did  it  get  back  onto  that  sortin'  table?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  it  did?  " 

"How  do  I  know!  Course  it  got  back  there! 
Didn't  Mary  say  — " 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  put  in.  "  How  do  you  ex 
plain  that,  Cap'n?  " 

He  was  holdin'  out  somethin'  that  he'd  took  from 
his  pocket.  I  grabbed  it.  'Twas  the  regular  re- 

306 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 

ceipt  for  that  registered  letter,  and  'twas  signed  by 
Ichabod  Hamilton,  Junior. 

I  looked  at  that  receipt  and  then  at  him.  The 
paddin'  in  my  head  that,  up  to  then,  I'd  compli 
mented  by  callin'  brains  was  whirlin'  as  if  somebody 
was  stirrin'  it.  I  couldn't  say  a  word.  He  laughed 
out  loud. 

"  Don't  have  a  fit,  Cap'n  Snow,"  he  says.  "  It's 
simple  enough.  What  you  told  me  yesterday  about 
the  firm  of  Hamilton  and  Co.  put  me  wise  to  the 
real  answer  to  the  riddle.  I  remembered  that  you 
pointed  out  Hamilton  to  me  on  the  street  when  you 
and  I  were  on  the  way  to  that  hotel  where  we  dined 
the  noon  of  my  arrival.  He  was  on  his  way  home 
then  and  he  had  been  somewhere  in  this  vicinity. 
There  was  a  chance  that  he  had  been  here  at  the 
office.  This  mornin'  I  went  to  his  house  and  found 
him  in  bed.  He  was  full  of  rheumatism  and  groans, 
but  fuller  still  of  the  Evil  One.  I  told  him  I  knew 
he'd  got  his  partner's  registered  letter  —  a  bluff  of 
course  —  and  he  didn't  take  the  trouble  to  deny  it. 
Seems  Sim  Kelley,  with  the  mail  box,  passed  him 
right  here  by  the  store  platform.  As  they  passed 
each  other  the  letter  fell  from  Kelley's  overcoat 
pocket.  The  old  man  picked  it  up,  intendin'  to  call 
to  Kelley  and  give  it  back  to  him.  When  he  saw 
the  address  he  didn't." 

He  stopped  then,  waitin'  for  me  to  say  something 

307 


THE  POSTMASTER 

I  s'pose.  But  I  couldn't  say  anything.  My  head 
was  fuller  of  stir-about  than  ever,  and  I  just  stared 
at  him  with  my  mouth  open. 

'  When  he  saw  the  address  —  and  the  name  of 
the  brokerage  firm  —  he  didn't.  He  took  that  let 
ter  home  and  opened  it.  You  see,  the  old  feller  is 
nobody's  fool,  even  if  his  rheumatism  has  kept  him 
from  active  business  for  the  last  few  months.  He 
had  suspected  his  nephew  of  speculatin'  and  here  was 
the  proof,  a  hundred  shares  of  cheap  minin'  stock, 
and  a  letter  sayin'  that  two  hundred  more  had  been 
bought  on  a  margin.  Young  Hamilton  had  been 
stockjobbin'  with  the  firm's  money." 

"  My  —  soul !  "  was  all  I  could  say. 
'  Yes ;  well,  old  Ichabod  is  —  ha  !  ha !  —  a  queer 
character.  His  rheumatism  had  come  back  and  he 
was  waitin'  to  get  better  afore  he  took  the  matter 
up  with  his  partner.  '  What  I'll  say  and  do  to  that 
young  pup  is  a  well  man's  job/  he  told  me.  We  had 
a  long  talk  and  it  ended  in  his  sendin'  for  Ike.  As 
soon  as  the  young  chap  came  I  cleared  out  —  that  is, 
after  I  got  this  receipt  signed.  That  bedroom  was 
too  sulphurous  for  me.  I  could  smell  brimstone 
even  in  the  front  yard.  Cap'n,  I  guess  you  needn't 
worry  about  your  rival  candidate  for  postmaster. 
He's  got  troubles  enough  of  his  own." 

I  got  up,  slow  and  deliberate,  from  that  shoe-case. 

"  But  —  but  — "  I  stuttered. 
308 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 

"Yes?     Anything  that  I  haven't  made  clear?" 

"Anything?  Why!  if  all  this  yarn  of  yours  is 
so  —  .  .  .  But  it  can't  be  so !  Why  did  Mary 
burn  that  letter?  " 

"  She  didn't." 

"  But  she  said  she  did." 

"  I  know.  Well,  Cap'n,  if  you'll  remember  when 
we  talked,  the  three  of  us,  yesterday,  I  hinted  that 
unless  you  were  cleared  of  blame  in  this  affair  you 
might  be  removed  from  office." 

"I  know,  but  .  .  .  Hey?  You  mean  that 
she  lied  and  put  the  blame  on  herself,  so  as  to  save 
me?  So's  I'd  keep  my  job?" 

"  Looks  that  way  to  a  man  up  a  tree,  doesn't  it?  " 

"  But  why?  Why  should  she  sacrifice  herself  for 
—  for  me?" 

Peters  bit  the  end  off  of  a  cigar.  "That,"  says 
he,  "  don't  come  under  the  head  of  government  busi- 


Mary  was  still  at  her  desk  when  I  walked  into  the 
mail  room.     I  put  my  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"  Mary,"  says  I,  "  I  know  all  about  it." 
She  looked  at  me.     Her  eyes  were  wet,   and  I 
cal'late  mine  wa'n't  as  dry  as  a  sand  bank  in  July. 
'  You  know?  "  she  says. 

'  Yes,"  says  I.     And  I  told  her  the  yarn.     Afore 
I  got  through  the  color  had  come  back  to  her  cheeks. 

309 


"  Then  you  did  leave  it  on  the  sortin'  table  after 
all,"  she  says,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Course  I  did !     Didn't  I  say  so  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  Cap'n  Zeb,  I  saw  you  put  that  letter 
in  your  overcoat  pocket.  I  saw  you  do  it,  myself." 

So  there  'twas.  I'd  forgot  to  tell  her  about  my 
mistake  in  the  overcoats  and  she  thought  I'd  lost  the 
letter  and  didn't  know  it. 

"  And  so,"  says  I,  after  I'd  explained,  "  you 
thought  I'd  lost  it  and  yet  you  took  the  blame  all  on 
yourself.  You  risked  your  place  and  told  a  lie  just 
to  save  me,  Mary.  Why  did  you  do  it?  " 

"  How  could  I  help  it?  "  she  says.  "  You've  been 
so  good  to  me  and  so  kind." 

"Good  and  kind  be  keelhauled!"  I  sung  out. 
"  Mary,  my  goodness  and  kindness  wouldn't  explain 
a  thing  like  that.  Oh,  Mary,  don't  let's  have  an 
other  misunderstandin'.  I'm  crazy  maybe  to  think 
of  such  a  thing,  and  I'm  ten  years  older  than  you, 
and  you'll  be  throwin'  yourself  away,  but,  do  you 
care  enough  for  me  to  — " 

She  got  up  from  her  desk,  all  flustered  like. 

"  It's  mail  time,"  she  says.      "I  —  I  must  — " 

But  'twa'n't  mail  I  was  interested  in  just  then.  I 
caught  her  afore  she  could  get  away. 

"Could  you,  Mary?"  I  pleaded.  She  wouldn't 
look  at  me,  so  I  put  my  hand  under  her  chin  and 
tipped  her  head  back  so  I  could  see  her  face.  'Twas 

310 


IKE'S  LOSS  MY  GAIN 

as  red  as  a  spring  peony,  and  her  eyes  were  wetter 
than  ever.  But  they  were  shinin'  behind  the  fog. 

Well,  about  three  that  afternoon,  we  were  alone 
together  in  the  mail  room.  Peters,  who  had  as  much 
common  sense  as  anybody  ever  I  see,  had  gone  for 
a  walk. 

Mary  was  thinkin'  things  over  and  says  she,  "  But 
it  was  too  bad,"  she  says,  "  that  all  the  worry  and 
trouble  had  to  come  on  you  just  because  of  that  fool 
ish  Sim  Kelley.  I'm  so  sorry." 

"  Sorry!  "  says  I.  "  I'm  goin'  to  give  Sim  a  ten- 
dollar  bill  next  time  I  see  him.  If  I  gave  him  a 
million  'twould  be  a  cheap  price  for  what  I've  got 
by  his  buttin'  in.  Sorry!  /  ain't  sorry,  I  tell  you 
that!" 

And  I've  never  been  sorry  since,  either. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

I  PAY  MY  OTHER  BET 

}  f  |  "\WAS  June,  and  Mary  and  I  were  in 
New  York  together,  on  our  honeymoon. 
"^  We'd  been  married,  quietly,  by  the  same 
parson  that  tied  the  knot  for  Jim  and  Georgianna, 
and  Georgianna  and  Jim  had  been  on  hand  at  the 
ceremony.  We  was  cal'latin'  to  stop  in  New  York 
a  few  days,  then  go  to  Washin'ton,  and  from  there 
to  Chicago,  and  from  there  to  California  or  the 
Yellerstone,  or  anywhere  that  seemed  good  to  us  at 
the  time.  I'd  waited  fifty  years  for  my  weddin' 
tour  and  I  didn't  intend  to  let  dollars  and  cents  cut 
much  figger,  so  far  as  regulatin'  the  limits  of  the 
cruise  was  concerned.  Jim  Henry  and  the  clerk, 
who'd  been  swore  in  as  substitute  assistant,  believed 
they  could  run  the  store  and  post-office  while  we 
were  gone. 

Mary  and  I  were  walkin'  down  Broadway  to 
gether.  I'd  told  her  I  had  an  errand  to  do  and 
asked  her  if  she  wanted  to  come  along.  She  said 
she  did  and  we  were  walkin'  down  Broadway,  as  I 
said,  when  all  at  once  I  pulled  up  short. 

312 


I  PAY  MY  OTHER  BET 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Mary,  lookin'  to  see  what 
had  run  across  my  bows  to  bring  me  up  into  the 
wind  so  sudden. 

"  Nothin'  serious,"  says  I;  "but,  unless  my  eye 
sight  is  goin'  back  on  me,  this  shop  we're  in  front 
of  is  what  I've  been  huntin'  for." 

She  looked  at  the  shop  I  was  p'intin'  at.  The 
window  was  full  of  hats,  straw  ones  mainly. 

"Why!"  says  she,  "it's  a  hat  store,  isn't  it? 
You  don't  need  a  new  hat,  Zebulon,  do  you?  " 

"  You  bet  I  do !  "  says  I,  chucklin'.  "  I  need 
just  as  much  hat  as  there  is.  Come  in  and  watch 
me  buy  it." 

I  could  see  she  was  puzzled,  but  she  was  more 
so  after  I  got  into  the  store.     A  slick-lookin',  but 
pretty  condescendin'  young  clerk  marched  up  to  us 
and  says  he: 
.  "  Somethin'  in  a  hat,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  I;  "  everything  in  a  hat." 

He  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  that,  so  he  tried 
again. 

"One   of  our   new  straws,   perhaps?"   he   asks. 
'  The  fifteenth  is  almost  here,  you  know." 

"  Maybe  so,"  I  told  him,  "  but  I  don't  want  any 
straw,  the  fifteenth  or  the  sixteenth  either.  I  want 
a  plug  hat,  a  beaver  hat  —  that's  what  I  want." 

The  clerk  was  a  little  set  back,  I  guess,  but  poor 
Mary  was  all  at  sea. 

313 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"Why,  Zebulon!  "  she  whispers,  grabbin'  me  by 
the  arm,  "  what  are  you  doin'  ?  You're  not  goin' 
to  buy  a  silk  hat!  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  says  I. 

"  But  you  aren't  goin'  to  wear  it." 

To  save  me,  when  I  looked  at  her  face  I  couldn't 
help  laughin'. 

"  Ain't  I  ?  "  says  I.  "  Why,  I  think  I'd  look  too 
cute  for  anything  in  a  tall  hat.  What's  your  opin 
ion?"  turnin'  to  the  clerk. 

He  coughed  behind  his  hand  and  then  made  proc 
lamation  that  a  silk  hat  would  become  me  very  well, 
he  was  sure. 

"  Then  you're  a  whole  lot  surer  than  I  am,"  says 
I.  "  However,  trot  one  out,  the  best  article  you've 
got  in  stock." 

That  clerk's  back  was  gettin'  limberer  every  sec 
ond.  '  Yes,  sir,"  says  he,  bowin'.  "  Our  im 
ported  hat  at  ten  dollars  is  the  finest  in  New  York. 
If  you  and  the  lady  will  step  this  way,  please." 

We  stepped;  that  is,  I  did.  I  pretty  nigh  had  to 
drag  Mary. 

"What  size,  sir?"  asked  the  clerk. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  says  I.  "  Any  nice  genteel 
size  will  do,  I  guess." 

I  had  consider'ble  fun  with  that  clerk,  fust  and 
last,  and  when  we  came  out  of  that  store  I  was 
luggin'  a  fine  leather  box  with  the  imported  tall  hat 

3H 


I  PAY  MY  OTHER  BET 

inside  it.  I'd  made  arrangements  that,  if  the  size 
shouldn't  be  right,  it  could  be  exchanged. 

"  And  now,  Mary,"  says  I,  "  I  cal'late  you're 
wonderin'  where  we'll  go  next,  ain't  you?  " 

She  looked  at  me  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Zeb,"  she  says,  half  laughin',  "I  —  I'm  almost 
afraid  we  ought  to  go  to  the  insane  asylum." 

I  laughed  out  loud  then.  "  Not  just  yet,"  I  told 
her.  "  We're  goin'  on  a  cruise  down  South  Street 
fust." 

So  I  hired  a  hack  —  street  cars  ain't  good  enough 
for  a  man  on  his  weddin'  trip  —  and  the  feller  drove 
us  to  the  number  I  give  him  on  South  Street.  The 
old  place  looked  mighty  familiar. 

"  Is  Mr.  Pike  in?"  I  asked  the  bookkeeper,  who 
had  hollered  my  name  out  as  if  he  was  glad  to  see 
me. 

"  Why,  yes,  Cap'n  Snow,  he's  in.  I'll  tell  him 
you're  here." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  says  I.  "Is  he  alone? 
Good!  Then  I'll  tell  him  myself.  Come,  Mary." 

Pike  was  in  his  private  office,  not  lookin'  a  day 
older  than  when  I  left  him  four  years  and  a  half 
ago.  He  looked  up,  jumped,  and  then  grabbed 
me  by  both  hands.  "  Why,  Cap'n  Zeb !  "  he  sung 
out.  "  If  this  isn't  good  for  sore  eyes.  How  are 
you?  What  are  you  doin'  here  in  New  York?  By 
George,  I'm  glad  to  see  you!  What — " 

315 


THE  POSTMASTER 

"  Wait  f  "  I  interrupted.  "  Business  fust,  and 
pleasure  afterwards.  I'm  here  to  pay  my  debts." 

"  Debts?  "  says  he,  wonderin'. 

"  Yes,"  I  says.  "  Did  you  get  a  hat  from  me 
four  year  or  so  ago  ?  " 

He  laughed.  "  Yes,  I  did,"  he  says.  "  I  wrote 
you  that  I  did.  I  knew  I  should  win  that  bet.  You 
couldn't  stay  idle  to  save  your  soul." 

"  There  was  another  bet,  too,  if  you  recollect. 
A  bet  with  a  five-year  limit  on  it.  The  limit  won't 
be  up  till  next  fall,  so  here  I  am  —  and  here's  the 
other  hat." 

I  set  the  leather  box  on  the  table.  He  stared  at 
it  and  then  at  me. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  says,  slow.  "  I  don't 
remember.  .  .  .  Why,  yes  —  I  do!  You  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  that  you're  — " 

"  That's  the  hat,  ain't  it?  "  I  cut  in.  "  You're  a 
man  of  judgment,  Mr.  Pike,  and  any  time  you  want 
to  set  up  professionally  as  a  prophet  I'd  like  to  take 
stock  in  the  company." 

He  was  beginnin'  to  smile. 

"  Then  — "  says  he  —  "  Why,  then  this  must 
be—" 

I  cut  in  and  stopped  him. 

"Hold  on,"  says  I.  "Hold  on!  I'm  prouder 
to  be  able  to  say  it  than  I  ever  was  of  anything  else 
in  this  world,  and  I  sha'n't  let  you  say  it  fust.  Mr. 

316 


I  PAY  MY  OTHER  BET 

Pike,  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  wife  —  Mrs.  Zebu- 
Ion  Snow." 

About  half  an  hour  afterwards  he  found  time  to 
look  at  the  hat. 

"  Whew !  "  says  he.  "  Cap'n,  this  is  much  too 
good  a  hat  for  you  to  buy  for  me.  I'm  mighty  glad, 
for  your  sake,  that  I  won  the  bet,  but  — " 

"  Ssh-h !  shh !  "  says  I.  "  Don't  say  another 
word.  Think  of  what  /  won!  Hey,  Mary?" 


THE    END 


(3) 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  111  424     8 


